Feels Like Coming Home
by boschette
Summary: A pregnant Jen goes home to Capeside to reconnect to her past and plan for her future. Prefinale, post Joey Potter and Capeside Redemption. LONG overdue update July 10, 2006.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N I'm taking a break from "To Be Myself" because my muse has left me. Sorry about that; I'll pick it back up as soon as I can. Here's something different (for me). Jen's always intrigued me, and here's my take on what happened when she found out she was pregnant with Amy. Not sure where this one is going, so please just come along for the ride, and, as always, let me know what you think. Reviews make my day!**  
  
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Jennifer Lindley didn't remember the last time she had actually needed a drink, but she needed one now. And, her life being what it was, the irony was right there waiting to smack her in the face as it had been for most of the major events, both good and bad, of her twenty-five years. She couldn't have one. Drinking, it seemed, would be off-limits for quite a while. Drinking, along with every other vice that she could think of at the moment, the ones that gave her pleasure or comfort or served as temporary patches for her wounds. Vices were off-limits for another seven months, at least.  
  
She rolled over on her back and stared at the shadow-laced ceiling, her hand resting lightly on her still-smooth belly. The flesh was flat, soft under her palm. And warm. That was good, because she felt cold. The coldness seemed to radiate from her heart outward, filling up every cell in her body and making her feel empty. Funny, how you could feel so empty when there was another person growing inside of you. But it was good that her belly was warm to the touch. She had been worried the baby would feel the cold that had seeped into her bones.  
  
"Baby." She said the word aloud, experimentally. "My baby." It sounded strange in the emptiness of her bedroom, hovering in the air, reverberating, heavy with meaning. She almost laughed.  
  
Her hand went to the phone on her nightstand, and she picked it up and stared contemplatively at the glowing keypad. It was so tempting to dial the numbers that her fingers had come to know so well, the numbers that would bring his voice to her ears, allow him to apologize, give him another chance. "Another chance to what?" she asked herself. To take it back, her mind answered for her. To fix it. To dislodge the knife from her heart and mend the gaping hole he'd left there.  
  
"Wow, Jen, we're going to have a baby? Well that's wonderful news! In fact, that's the best damn news I've ever heard! Let's get married. Let's be a family. Let's toss aside our insecurities and immaturities and fears of perpetuating the cycle of broken homes that our own parents instilled in us and rejoice in this blessed event. I can't wait!"  
  
Was that what she had expected? Well, no. She knew him better than that. But not well enough, evidently. Not nearly well enough.  
  
She didn't dial those numbers that her fingers were itching to press. Instead she dialed eleven of them that were equally familiar and infinitely more comforting, and she listened as the phone rang miles away, connecting her to the place where she'd left a good portion of herself, and to the person with whom she'd left it.  
  
When he answered she let out a sigh of relief. She had been almost sure he wouldn't be there. "Jack. It's me."  
  
"Hi beautiful! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me now that you've got the big job in the big city. What's going on?"  
  
"Well, I'm pregnant. Other than that?"  
  
Silence on the other end. She smiled into the phone, picturing the look on his face as clearly as if he were standing in front of her.  
  
"Are you...is that...Jen, are you kidding?"  
  
"Have you ever known me to have a sense of humor? Of course I'm not kidding. What do you think about that, Uncle Jacky?"  
  
"I'm speechless!" he exclaimed. "I mean...pregnant? Jen! Are you okay? I mean, are you...?"  
  
She laughed in spite of herself, feeling the grip of the coldness loosen its hold a little. "I'm good. I'm fine."  
  
"Well then, oh man! I don't know what to say. Congratulations! Wow!"  
  
Smiling, trying to keep her tone light and playful, she went on. "Next question, do you want to run away to Vegas and make an honest woman out of me? We can have one of those open marriages; I hear they work well for gay men stuck in dead-end relationships with straight women."  
  
In the silence that followed, Jack heard what she wasn't telling him. "You talked to him about this?" he asked, his voice tight.  
  
"Yep. He was...surprised, shall we say?" She felt her smile falter and bit down on her bottom lip, struggling to keep up the dry wit. "I mean, it's a big thing to lay on someone after a long day at work. It was an issue of timing, really. I have bad timing."  
  
"Jen, stop kidding around. This is me. What did he say?"  
  
"He said he loves me, and that he wants the best for me," she said, smiling again as the tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes. "And that he is very, very certain that having a baby is not...well...in the cards. At least not now. At least not for us. He'll pay for the procedure. He said that, Jack. He said 'procedure,' can you believe that?"  
  
"Bastard. What in the hell is his--"  
  
"No, don't do that," she scolded softly, struggling to keep evidence of the tears out of her voice. "That's not why I called you."  
  
"I'm sorry, Jen, but it's hard for me to just sit here and listen to you tell me about this jerk and not add any editorial commentary."  
  
"Please."  
  
"Okay. What do you need from me? I can be there in the morning. Tonight, even, if I leave right away. You want me to come?"  
  
She smiled again. "That's very sweet, Jackers, but that's not necessary. I'm fine. You've got work."  
  
"Summer school's no big deal. I can find a sub. Jen, I'm worried about you."  
  
"I know. But I was thinking about coming out there for a few days. I just need to get out of this city for a while, you know? Do you think I could stay with you and Doug?"  
  
"What, are you kidding? You don't have to ask."  
  
"I'll leave in the morning," she said, biting her thumbnail distractedly. She really hadn't considered going back to Capeside until the words were out of her mouth. Now it sounded like the best idea she'd ever had. It was her home. It was home to the best friends she'd ever had. It was far away from David Marshall. And that's where she needed to be right now.  
  
"Be careful, Jen. I'll see you soon."  
  
"Okay, I love you."  
  
They hung up and she lay back down on the bed, thinking about Capeside. She fell asleep to an image--part memory, part dream--of her friends, all of them, at the beach on a beautifully mild fall day. Sixteen and full of hope, of laughter, of teenage angst and ambition, of things they thought they knew and all the right words to back it up...What a group they had been. In her sleep, sixteen felt better than it ever had in real life. 


	2. Chapter 2

God, the place hadn't changed a bit. She didn't know what she had expected-- after all, she hadn't been gone for a lifetime, even though it seemed that way. She drove through the center of town with the window down, inhaling deeply of the salty fresh air that embodied some of the best years of her youth. It smelled like home. She smiled to herself.  
  
Jack's place was on the creek; a beautiful little Colonial-style two-story that his father had helped him buy when he found out that Jack was settling down in Capeside for good. No member of the McPhee clan would go without, even if said McPhee had opted for a lifestyle that wasn't exactly pleasing to McPhee senior. Jack's dad made sure that he and Andie were taken care of in style. There was something to be said for that kind of paternal responsibility.  
  
Jack was on his way out to greet her before she had put the car in park. Beaming, he opened the driver's side door and pulled her up and into a suffocating bear hug. She laughed with her face pressed into his chest.  
  
"Is someone happy to see me?" she asked, her voice muffled.  
  
"Nah, I thought you were someone else," he responded, planting a kiss on top of her head and then stepping back to study her face. "Well, you've got the glow."  
  
"The glow?"  
  
"The pregnant woman glow."  
  
"That's not a glow, Jack. That's sweat. It's hot as hell in this town. Not to mention that I've been driving for hours while constantly fighting the urge to pull over and puke onto the side of the road. And I'm proud to say I won the battle."  
  
"Thanks for that." Jack reached out and placed a gentle hand on Jen's abdomen. "Hi, baby," he said sweetly. "I'm your Uncle Jack. How's it going in there?"  
  
"She's a little peeved at me. I think she wants coffee. The nausea is her protest of my caffeine-boycott."  
  
"She? How are you so sure it's a she?"  
  
"Please. A mother knows." She gave him a searching look. "So, where's the boyfriend?"  
  
Jack grunted and rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed at the situation. "Careful what you say, Jen. We wouldn't want THAT to get around. A gay sheriff in Capeside might just kick off Armageddon."  
  
Jen pursed her lips. "Nothing's changed in that arena yet, huh?"  
  
"Not a bit. I feel like a criminal when we're together. It's really getting ridiculous."  
  
"Give him time, Jack. He loves you; he'll come around."  
  
"I just hope it's soon. It's bad for the ego, this hiding out in the closet thing. I thought I'd seen the last of that in high school." He sighed, then seemed to shake free of his thoughts. He took Jen's bag from the backseat and motioned for her to go inside. "Let's get you out of this heat, mommy."  
  
They settled in the big gourmet kitchen with tall glasses of lemonade, Jen on a barstool, Jack perched on the counter with his legs dangling off the side. They chatted for a while about nothing in particular; her new job, the kids in his summer school class, old times. Finally, the silence stole over them, and he looked at her over the rim of his glass.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it? Do you want to talk about him?"  
  
Not meeting his eyes, Jen smiled bitterly. "Him. You never say his name, do you realize that?"  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Don't be. I'm not wild about saying his name right now either." She took a long sip of lemonade, then set the glass down on the counter with a heavy clunk. "Have I always been so damn stupid?" she demanded out of the blue, her voice suddenly rough with anger.  
  
Jack was taken off-guard. "What?"  
  
"I mean it. Have I always been blind and clueless and ignorant when it comes to relationships? Because I should have seen this coming, Jack, and I didn't, and that pisses me off. I didn't expect him to react the way he did, like a scared kid. Backing away from me like I'm a leper hell-bent on spreading my disease to the masses. 'Procedure,' for God's sake! That still boils my blood; how dare he?!"  
  
"You're not stupid, Jen. We're all a little blind when it comes to people we care about."  
  
"But why do I care about him? Why does it bother me so much that he proved to be a complete jackass with no soul? Why does it hurt so much?" Taking a deep, shuddery breath, she looked up at Jack with tears in her eyes.  
  
Jack boosted himself off the counter and put his arms around his friend. "Why? Because, right or wrong, good or bad, you love him. And you love this baby already, and you were taking it for granted that he would, too."  
  
"Ha. That was the stupid part."  
  
"No, that's what you deserved. That's the least the baby deserves. But you know what, it doesn't even matter, Jen, because you've got us. You've got me, and Grams, and Pacey, and Joey, and Dawson, and Andie, and your mom, and even Doug. And the baby...he or—sorry, SHE—will have us, too. You'll never be alone in this. Do you hear me? Forget the guy who provided the sperm; that's insignificant. Your family is here for you and for your baby."  
  
Jen smiled through her tears and brushed a few stray strands of blond hair out of her eyes. "You're really good at that, you know. The pep talks. You're the best pep talker I know."  
  
"I do my best." He clapped his hands together. "But enough of this. We've got a reunion to plan. We've got to celebrate the return of Capeside's own Jen Lindley."  
  
"Great. Nobody even lives here anymore."  
  
"Are you kidding me? We've got Pacey Witter, and Pacey Witter's the life of this little hellhole. And if you're lucky, I might be able to scrounge up a few more people who'd love to see your face again."  
  
Jen laughed. "Okay, well, while you do that, I'm going to go unpack and shower."  
  
"Great, you know where everything is. Do me a favor, if you happen to open the guest room closet and see Doug hiding in there, pull him out for me."  
  
"Promise."  
  
Jen went upstairs and sat down on the bed in the guest bedroom, sighing wearily. The anger that had welled up without warning when she thought about David and what he had done to her, to them, was still throbbing dully in her heart. Jack had eased her most immediate and obvious fears, he had always been able to do that, but he couldn't cool the anger. And she sensed that there was something underneath the anger; that somewhere inside her lurked some corrosive force that was deeper, more dangerous, more painful, coiled up and ready to strike if she made the wrong move. She wasn't ready to explore that yet. Not yet.  
  
She picked up a silver-framed photograph that sat on the nightstand. There they were again, the sixteen-year-olds they had been, arms around each other, wide, bright smiles belying the traumas they had each suffered and those that lay ahead. Jen ran a finger across her own face in the picture, feeling so distant from that girl, that sad, scared, mixed-up woman-child who was struggling to find her way, who never seemed to belong but took solace from and found love in her misfit status just the same.  
  
She set the photo back on its stand and crossed her arms around her middle, hugging herself. This place had healed her once. Maybe it could work its magic one more time. 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Pinkflutterby, this isn't AU; I want it to fit perfectly with the finale, but I realize that there are a few inconsistent details that I'll have to apologetically ask you guys to overlook. (And I'm not going to point them out here because maybe you won't even notice, lol!) Kel, you're the best...your reviews make me smile every time, so a special thanks to you! Britgirl2003, Jeanie, Sadi, and Anne918, thank you SO much for reviewing; I agree that there's a severe lack of Jen fics out there, and I'm doing my part to remedy that. I hope the rest of this story doesn't disappoint! Sam...wow. You and I are on the same wavelength! That's really weird about your David Marshall, especially when you factor in our recent similar storylines. I picked the name out of the blue, too! Maybe we're long-lost twins... ;) Okay everyone, please keep reviewing, and enjoy the next installment...**  
  
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Jen came downstairs after her shower, feeling refreshed and less queasy than she had all day, which was a blessing in itself. She found Jack in the kitchen, talking on the phone. He smiled when he saw her and held his hand up, turning his back toward her and lowering his voice confidentially.  
  
"Yeah, okay, we'll be there. This is perfect timing. Can you believe something's actually working in our favor?" He laughed. "Sure, thanks a lot, man. See you later." He clicked the phone off and set it on the counter.  
  
"Care to share?" Jen asked, nodding toward the receiver.  
  
"Nope, not yet. You'll find out soon enough."  
  
"Jack, you know I hate surprises. They're entirely too unpredictable for my taste."  
  
"But this is a good one."  
  
"I see—good like the time you set me up with Drue Valentine for senior prom?"  
  
"Hey, that was retribution. You set me up with Tobey."  
  
"That's so not the same thing, Jack! I was trying to do you a favor."  
  
"So was I. Come on, Drue wasn't that bad."  
  
Jen smiled and shook her head. "Yeah, he was a regular Prince Charming, that one. He did sort of save my life that night, I'll give him that. I was a wreck." She laughed a little at that. "I guess it's true what they say; some things never change."  
  
"None of that," Jack scolded. "You've never been a wreck, Jen. You were just..." He trailed off, searching for the right descriptor.  
  
Jen raised an eyebrow at him, amused. "Emotionally challenged?"  
  
He considered. "Something like that. But weren't we all?"  
  
"Touché." She opened his refrigerator and helped herself to a bottle of water. "Now, how long before I have to be prepared for this ungodly surprise you have in store?"  
  
Jack checked his watch. "You've got a few hours to spare. Why?"  
  
"Because I sort of want to look around town for a while. See what's changed since last time I was here. On the way in, it looked like time had gotten stuck in the late '90s as far as growth and innovation."  
  
"Capeside? Surely you must be kidding. Capeside is cutting edge, baby."  
  
"Right. So I'm free to roam?"  
  
"Absolutely, roam at your own risk. I've got a few things to take care of here; do you mind doing your tour solo?"  
  
"In fact, I insist." She grabbed her keys off the counter, patted Jack affectionately on the arm, and walked out of the house and into the hot summer day.  
  
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She parked across the street from Grams' house. Grams' _former_ house, she corrected herself automatically. Even after all this time, it was still weird to think that someone else lived there now. Summer people, no less. Thinking about the house standing empty all winter long, bitter Massachusetts winds blowing against it for months on end, made her feel hollow and lonely.  
  
The new owners had painted it since she had seen it last; the wood was now the color of sand, accented by deep blue shutters. She would have to tell Grams about that when she returned to New York; she would be happy to hear they were keeping the place up. It didn't look half bad, Jen thought. For some inexplicable reason, that thought hurt.  
  
On impulse, she got out of the car and walked across the street, strolling slowly and reflectively between her old home and the Leery house, which, she noted with some relief, hadn't changed a bit. Joey's ladder was gone, of course, but that had disappeared some time ago. Of course it had.  
  
The creek sparkled brilliantly in the afternoon sunshine. Jen wandered down to the pier and stood at the end of it, remembering clearly the day she had stepped out of a cab and into what would be her new life, her turning point, the punctuation mark that indelibly separated New York Jen from Capeside Jen. She smiled, thinking back to her first glimpse of a sweetly naïve Dawson Leery, the unchanged, endearingly obnoxious Pacey Witter, and a very young, very defensive, very unconsciously beautiful Joey Potter. What a road those kids had ahead of them. They had no idea. They didn't even realize that they _were_ kids.  
  
Jen was surprised to realize that a tear was making its way slowly down her cheek. Laughing at her nostalgia, she wiped it away. "Pregnancy hormones," she said to herself. "They're a bitch."  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
Jen let out a short, startled scream and spun around. Regaining her composure just as quickly as it had left her, she smiled coolly at the tall blond man who stood at the head of the dock, grinning from ear to ear as he watched her, his arms folded across his chest.  
  
"Well, Dawson Leery, as I live and breathe," she said in her trademark playful, sardonic tone.  
  
"Could this be THE Jennifer Lindley? You're legendary around these parts, you know."  
  
She laughed. "Good, my years of teenage recklessness paid off, then..." The two of them met in the center of the pier and threw their arms around each other. "It's so good to see you," she said seriously. Then, after a pause, "It's so _unexpected_ to see you! Wait a minute...what are you doing here, anyway? Don't tell me you're bored with Hollywood already." She pulled out of his embrace and looked up at him curiously.  
  
"No, nothing like that," he assured her. "I've still got stories to tell and movies to make."  
  
"And history to rewrite," Jen asked teasingly. "Love your show, by the way."  
  
"Thanks, that makes one of you. Jack takes very vocal issue with the casting of his counterpart. Anyway, I'm using some vacation time."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Willingly?"  
  
"Are you kidding? I was coerced." He grinned. "Anyway, I understand you have some pretty big news...?"  
  
Jen's hands went to her middle. "I guess that's one of the dangers of talking to yourself. Or did you already know? Were you Jack's mystery guy on the phone?"  
  
Dawson shook his head. "No, there was a mystery guy?" He laughed. "Maybe he's finally tired of Deputy Doug's shadow routine and found himself another love interest."  
  
"It's _Sheriff_ Doug now, or hadn't you heard? And I don't think so. Our Jackers is head over heels for Pacey's big brother."  
  
"Weird, huh? I never would have thought those two would end up together...Anyway, back to your news. Congratulations, Jen. Are you okay?"  
  
Ah, the question of the hour. She took a deep breath before answering. "Well, aside from being pretty much scared to death and fairly certain that this poor little one has been sentenced to a lifetime of therapy because her nutcase of a mother had no clue when it came to child-rearing, I'm fine." She smiled, hoping that she sounded convincingly lighthearted. And hoping against hope that he wouldn't ask...  
  
"How about David?"  
  
Jen flinched as if he had tried to hit her, then recovered just as quickly and pasted an almost-believable smile on her face. "He's fine," she said, skirting what she knew Dawson had meant by his question. "So, are you going to invite me into the Leery house for a trip down memory lane, or what?"  
  
Dawson held out his arm, and she took it. "Of course. My mom will be so happy to see you again."  
  
They started up the grassy hill toward the Leerys' back porch. Jen glanced over her shoulder at the creek once more and could almost see them as they had been that day, the ghosts of kids who had somehow grown up overnight: a beautiful, tomboyish brunette who kept stealing glances at the blond- haired, blue-eyed boy next to her, another boy with laughter in his eyes who looked somehow at home in his sea-monster costume. And a girl with tousled blond curls wearing a short summer dress that fluttered in the breeze, a girl who had been so recently and so badly hurt that it would take her years just to understand how deep the wound went and how far across her life it had spread. 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews. Kel, Im so with you on the Dawson/Jen thing. Unfortunately, though, I cant let them get together in this story if Im going to be true to the finale. Sigh...but I wish that had happened! Thanks for the insight about not getting too caught up in minor inconsistencies. Youre right, its the overall content that matters. Sam, Id have to be stalking your BRAIN, and Im not sure how to do that! ;) But Ill be on the lookout for any more weird links between us. Britgirl, thanks again! Hope you enjoy the rest...**  
  
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"Lily's grown like a weed, Dawson," Jen said as he walked her across the street to her car. They had spent almost two hours at the Leerys', Jen catching up with Gale as they sat on the screened porch and watched Dawson's little sister run around the backyard chasing butterflies.  
  
"Tell me about it. Every time I come home, it shocks me how fast she's growing up," Dawson agreed. "I guess kids do that. Funny, though. It doesn't seem like it when you're the one doing the growing."  
  
"Yeah, time has a way of screwing with your perception." Jen glanced over his shoulder at the little blonde girl who was watching them from the side yard of the big white house. She couldn't help thinking of her own child, the one who might look something like this little girl one day in the not- terribly-distant future. She waved at Lily, who smiled and waved back shyly before returning to her butterflies.  
  
"It really is good to see you," Dawson said for about the fifth time since they'd met up on the dock. "I wish we all lived closer. I—I miss you guys." He trailed off, and Jen read something in his eyes, something he probably wished he could hide better.  
  
"I see her from time to time," she said gently. "Our schedules are crazy and out of whack, but we made a pact to meet up and have drinks or dinner once a month. She's doing fine, Dawson."  
  
He met Jen's gaze steadily. "Is it that obvious?"  
  
"To me, yes," Jen answered honestly. "But don't worry. I'm highly intuitive." She winked at him and he forced a smile, but there were still shadows in his eyes. Joey shadows, Jen thought. How familiar she'd become with Joey shadows over the years. Between Pacey and Dawson, she knew the look like the back of her hand. It always made her feel sad for them. For all three of them, Joey included. Maybe Joey most of all.  
  
"She's still with that guy, what's his name?" Dawson seemed to be trying very hard to keep his tone light and casual.  
  
"Chris. They have a place in Manhattan, a view of the city and all. It's really nice."  
  
Dawson nodded. "That's right, Chris. Well, good. I mean, I'm glad she's okay. Last time we talked, she seemed sort of ... I don't know, distant. I was worried about her."  
  
"I seem to recall her saying the same thing about you, champ," Jen said. "Maybe you should try again. It's been a while. It's been too long, if you don't mind my saying so." She reached for his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. They were silent for a few moments.  
  
At last, Dawson cleared his throat a little too loudly. "I'm glad you came by, Jen. But this isn't it; I'll see you later, right?" he said, holding the car door open for her.  
  
"You better believe it. If you leave town without saying goodbye to me, I swear I'll hunt you down..."  
  
"I wouldn't dare."  
  
He waved once more and headed back across the street, stopping to scoop Lily up and swing her around in his arms. Jen smiled as she started the car and pulled away from the curb.  
  
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Memories on every corner. Everything she passed on her way back through town evoked some feeling, some encounter, some heartache or joy or meaningless triviality that had occurred here. All-but-forgotten moments rushed in on her from all directions. Even the sky seemed unique to this place, like she hadn't seen the same sky blanketing Boston or New York, her homes since she had left here, because the impeccable stretch of deepest blue that towered over her now was Capeside's own sky.  
  
She passed the Potter B&B and thought of Joey, her closest girlfriend, in fact the only girl she had really opened up to in her entire life. They lived in the same city now—but worlds apart. It was true, what she had told Dawson; she and Joey met for drinks once a month and caught up on each other's lives. But most of those nights were full of what they didn't say, names they refused to speak, reminiscences they held back ... because the past could hurt, especially after a drink or two, and because they were busy moving on: new city, new jobs, new loves, new identities. Talking about Dawson or Pacey or Andie or even Jack would just set them back, perhaps even expose some painstakingly buried regret—and that would be risking far too much.  
  
So, instead, the old friends spoke like new ones, by some understood agreement keeping Capeside and all the people they shared out of their minds and off their lips—well, most of the time.  
  
Once, several months ago, after three glasses of wine at their favorite meeting spot (a bar that wasn't too loud or too "New York" they jokingly agreed), Joey had without warning broken their unwritten rule: "Dawson called me last week."  
  
Jen swallowed her mouthful of Merlot too fast and coughed long and hard. When she recovered, Joey was looking at her steadily across the table, her brown eyes sad and deep.  
  
"How long has it been?" Jen managed.  
  
"Almost a year," Joey said immediately. "Chris answered the phone." She absentmindedly twisted a strand of her dark hair around her fingers as she spoke. It was a Joeyism that Jen hadn't seen in a long time. "It was so weird, Jen. I never thought it could be that weird to be talking to Dawson Leery."  
  
"What did he say?"  
  
"Nothing. I mean, we talked about a lot of things; his show and my job, the new promotion. He asked about you. But there was nothing under the surface. It was like talking to someone you hardly know." She paused reflectively. "No, it was worse than that. It was like talking to someone you _used_ to know."  
  
Jen didn't answer, not knowing what to say, exactly. "I'm sorry," she finally managed in a near-whisper. "That must have been very hard."  
  
Joey chewed on her bottom lip, staring out the window. "It's funny how you can forget that you miss someone until you hear their voice again." ...  
  
Now, driving toward Jack's house, Jen remembered how sad and lost and young Joey had looked as she recounted the first conversation she'd had in almost a year with her oldest friend. Dawson had looked the same way just now, when Jen brought up Joey's name.  
  
And then there was Pacey, she thought as she drove past the Icehouse, which he now owned. Sweet, all-too-often-misunderstood Pacey Witter, whose heart belonged to Joey and who belonged _with_ Joey. Jen had no doubt about that. Those two were meant to be together if any two people ever had been. She could never tell Dawson that, but she felt it, and she always had. She'd been rooting for Pacey and Joey for years.  
  
Her cell phone rang as she was contemplating pulling into the Icehouse parking lot and seeing if Pacey was at work. She fished it out of her purse and answered it.  
  
"Have you skipped town, been kidnapped, or what?" Jack's voice asked.  
  
"Chill out, Jackers, I'm on my way back," she said. "I just had a lovely encounter with a dear old friend."  
  
"Damn it. Did you run into Dawson?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, I did; why do you ask? Is Dawson my surprise? 'Cause, I've got to tell you, Jack, you're going to have to do better than that," she said teasingly.  
  
"No comment. I'll see you in a few."  
  
She rolled her window down, enjoying the fresh, salty sea breeze as she had driving in that morning. She realized that she felt different than she had in a long time. She felt alive. She felt calm. She felt—almost—happy. It suddenly occurred to her that she was smiling.  
  
Then her phone rang again. She answered with a smile on her lips, expecting to hear Jack's voice. "What now?" she asked, amused.  
  
"Jen? Where are you?"  
  
At the sound of that voice, her heart sank as if suddenly remembering that it was broken.  
  
It was David. 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter was sad to write, because it got me thinking about the fact that Jen didn't have long to live after this story takes place. I think that on some unconscious level, she realizes that fact, and so some of her reflections and emotions are deeper and stronger than they might be otherwise. Thank you for the reviews! Kel, you're so sweet, and your faithful reviews mean so much to me. I always felt like I related to Jen more than the rest; she and I are a lot alike in some ways, and I enjoy writing from her perspective because I think I share a lot of aspects with her. Notlikeyou, thanks for sticking with me from "Life After." Your reviews are much appreciated, too. Katieshaz and Kilika, I'm so glad you like this. I hope you keep reading and reviewing!**  
  
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Jen made sure to wipe away all traces of tear tracks from her cheeks before going into the house. No need for Jack to see her in such a state. Tears were the most visible sign of weakness, and she hated weakness. She glanced over at the cell phone that was lying innocently in a patch of sunlight in the passenger seat. Impulsively, she grabbed it and shoved it into the glove compartment, slamming the little hinged door harder than was necessary. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her wind-blown hair with her hands and went inside.  
  
"Honey, I'm home," she called from the foyer.  
  
"Well it's about time!" Jack yelled back, coming noisily down the stairs. "I hope you—" he froze as he got a good look at her face. "What's the matter?"  
  
Damn. She should have done a better cleanup job. "What? Nothing." She forced her lips into a smile that felt plastic and fragile.  
  
"Yeah, right. Seriously, Jen..."  
  
"Seriously, Jack, I'm fine," she said firmly. "Please...?" She left her unspoken request dangling in the air between them. _Drop it,_ her silence begged.  
  
He hesitated, frowning, and then seemed to think better of pursuing the subject any further. "All right, whatever you say." He caught her hand. "Come with me. Close your eyes," he commanded. "On second thought..." He pulled her to him and covered her eyes with his hand, guiding her toward the living room with his other hand on her back.  
  
"Jack, what's up?" she asked, smiling for real this time. "What's going on?"  
  
"You'll see, just come on."  
  
"Don't bump me into anything."  
  
"I'm not going to bump you into anything."  
  
"Really? Because I'm in a fragile state, you know."  
  
"Jen, trust me."  
  
"I mean, you bump me into the wall and it could set off a domino effect of all kinds of prenatal complications," Jen babbled. "...She could end up stunted, or slow, or maybe even a cheerleader, all because her Uncle Jacky bumped her mommy into the wall trying to pull off some surprise she told him she didn't want in the first place. You just never know what's going to hurt the..."  
  
"Surprise." Jack said softly, taking his hand away from her eyes.  
  
Jen let her gaze wander around the room, over the faces she'd seen so often in her New York dreams and tried so hard to fade from her New York life. Andie, Pacey, Joey, Dawson. Together again like the photograph up in the guest bedroom, smiling easily, just as if they all still belonged here and a lifetime hadn't passed in the gaping hole that marked the interim between high school graduation and now.  
  
She closed her mouth, which had fallen open as the sight before her seeped slowly into reality like a Polaroid photograph. "Hi," she finally managed, and there was a chorus of laughter as they all surged in on her at once.  
  
"Jack called last night and told me your news," Andie said, squeezing Jen tightly and speaking in her characteristic exuberant tone that was infinitely comforting in its familiarity. "I just had to drive out and see you, and I had no idea until I got here that Joey and Dawson were in town. It's like it was meant to be, for us all to be here at the same time. It's been way too long." She stepped away and smiled around at the group, then turned back to Jen. "I can't believe one of us is going to be a parent! I mean, that's so weird...isn't that weird, guys? But exciting weird, not bad weird. Congratulations, Jen!"  
  
"Thanks, Andie." Jen smiled and turned to hug Joey. "Hey, you. What are you doing here?"  
  
Joey shrugged. "Same as you, I think. I just needed to get out of the city, clear my head." A shadow of sadness touched her eyes very briefly, but it was not lost on Jen even as Joey hurried on brightly. "What great timing, huh? Anyway, how are you; are you okay?"  
  
Jen hesitated. "Well...I'm going to be okay." She lowered her voice before adding, "How about you, Jo? Are _you_ all right?"  
  
"Don't be silly, I'm not the one who's pregnant," Joey said lightly, with a valiant attempt at a smile that fell just short of convincing. She hadn't answered the question, and they both knew it. Jen made a mental note to take Joey aside later and find out what was going on with her.  
  
Pacey edged his way between the girls then and swept Jen up in his arms, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek.  
  
"Careful, Pace," Joey warned. "I don't think you're supposed to manhandle pregnant women."  
  
"Come on, she wouldn't be pregnant if it weren't for a little manhandling, right?" Pacey shot back cheerfully. "You've been gone too long, Lindley."  
  
"I'm beginning to realize that," she said, laughing, as he set her back down on her feet. "It's good to see you, Pace."  
  
"Of course it is. They just don't grow them like this up in the Big Apple...right Jo?" He smiled charmingly, and Joey rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her amusement.  
  
Dawson cleared his throat. "And we meet again," he said, his blue eyes twinkling as he winked at Jen. "It's been almost an hour; I thought you might miss me by now."  
  
"Of course, Dawson, I'm not sure how I survived the heartbreaking drive here from your place." Jen turned to look at Jack. "You have a big mouth, McPhee. I mean, I have seven more months of nausea and swollen ankles and a rapidly expanding midsection to suffer through, and you don't even let me share the news with my best friends?"  
  
"Sorry, but this is the closest I'll probably ever get to having a kid myself, and I was excited."  
  
"You never know, Jackers. My brother just might surprise you with an illegitimate child from one of the many conquests of his pre-gay days."  
  
"Ha ha, Pace, very funny."  
  
"Come now, surely you know what a stud Dougie was before he jumped the fence."  
  
"What makes you think he's not one now?"  
  
"Ah, good point, man. Let's not delve any deeper there."  
  
"All right, boys," Jen intervened. "Are we going to argue over stud status, or are we going to have fun?"  
  
"Why can't we do both?" Jack asked.  
  
"Well, carry on, then." Jen stepped toward Joey and whispered, "Come with me."  
  
Joey glanced over at the others to see if anyone had heard, then turned to follow Jen out the back door. Jen sat on the porch swing and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Joey stood facing her expectantly.  
  
"Well?" she asked.  
  
"Why are you here, Joey?"  
  
Joey looked taken aback. "I told you, I just..."  
  
Jen rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yeah, I know, you wanted to leave the city for a while, et cetera, et cetera. Now look at me, and tell me the real reason. Did something happen with Chris?"  
  
"I don't know. Why are we talking about this? It's irrelevant. We're here to celebrate you and your baby and old times."  
  
"But if this is my party, then I get to call the shots. What's up in New York, Jo?"  
  
"I'll tell you if you tell me."  
  
"Ah, what a clever move." Jen rocked back and forth to set the swing in motion. "Well, since you asked, David and I broke up."  
  
"Oh, Jen..."  
  
"No, please, if you offer me sympathy I'm going to scream."  
  
"Do you want to talk about it? Was it—did it have to do with—"  
  
"With Little Jen here?" she patted her abdomen. "In a word, yes."  
  
"Jen, I'm so sorry."  
  
"Hey, what did I just say? Now, I told you my sob story. Are you going to hold up your end?" Jen was fighting to keep her voice even, and had to admit she was doing a pretty good job for someone who, twenty minutes ago, had been weeping in her car on the side of the road.  
  
"Chris wants to marry me."  
  
Jen's eyes widened. "Wow," she said. "And you, being you..."  
  
"What do you think? I'm running away." Joey sniffed. "That's my specialty, right?"  
  
The two looked at each other across the breezy porch in silence.  
  
"It's funny to see you here," Jen finally said. "I mean, it's so different than seeing you in New York. It's like we're—"  
  
"Two different people there," Joey finished. "We are. Sometimes when I'm there I can't even remember who little Joey Potter used to be."  
  
"She's a great girl, you should meet her sometime."  
  
Joey smiled sadly.  
  
The screen door banged shut and they turned to see Andie. "Too much testosterone is flying around in there," she said brightly. "What are you guys talking about?"  
  
"Love and life, what else?" Jen said. "Come, join us."  
  
Andie came to sit next to Jen on the swing.  
  
"So how's yours?" Jen asked.  
  
"My love and life?" Andie asked. "Well, the love part is slow-going, but the life...I guess I'd have to say it's pretty good."  
  
"Remember our ten-year pact?" Joey said suddenly.  
  
Andie and Jen looked at each other, amused. "Yeah, but I'm surprised you do," Jen said.  
  
"Oh come on, I wasn't that drunk," Joey protested.  
  
"Yeah, right." Jen laughed at the memory. "You told me you loved me."  
  
"Well, I do, Jen. But anyway, how are we doing in terms of our predictions?"  
  
"Um, we've still got a couple of years to go," Andie said. "I don't think my life is turning out much like I thought it would when I was seventeen. But that's okay, because there have been some good surprises. What about you?"  
  
Joey shook her head. "I don't know. I'm doing what I wanted to do. Editing books, living in New York. But then, I've always been predictable."  
  
Jen smiled wistfully. "Care to pass some of that trait my way? Nothing in my life has ever been predictable. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like for me in two years. I'll have a toddler, for God's sake. A human life will be completely in my hands." She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of sadness threatening to settle on her once more. _Stop it, Jen. This is neither the time nor the place to panic over something that's going to happen whether you like it or not._  
  
Joey came over to sit on Jen's other side on the bench swing. "That's incredible," she said gently, seeming somehow to understand the inner struggle Jen was going through at the moment. "That's bigger than anything I'll accomplish in the publishing world."  
  
"Yeah," Andie agreed. "Or me. And if I never find the right guy to settle down with, I might just have to live vicariously through you like Jack is going to do..." She paused. "It's finally occurred to me that there is only one Pacey."  
  
The others looked at her with unmasked surprise. She smiled at their twin expressions. "Come on, guys," she said. "It's true that no one compares to your first love."  
  
Joey turned away then, gazing out toward the creek. "No," she said in a near-whisper. "No one does."  
  
The three of them sat on the swing for a long time, the girls they were and the women they had become melding together for the first time in years as they breathed life back into the past they shared. It was a strange sensation, Jen thought, but not an unpleasant one. Looking at Joey, she saw the same feelings mirrored in her deep brown eyes. And when the guys finally came out and joined them on the porch, it seemed that a piece of the puzzle linking childhood to adulthood slid into place.  
  
As they talked and laughed together, Jen looked around at her friends that were more like family and studied the scene as if she weren't even a part of it, freezing the moment in her mind, wishing she could hold on to it, to them, forever. 


	6. Chapter 6

It was much easier to put aside your own problems when you were surrounded by people who had problems of their own, especially if they were people you cared about helping. Amid the laughter, teasing, reminiscing, and amiable, reflective silences that marked the dinner they were enjoying at a waterfront table at Pacey's revamped version of the Icehouse (which, they all agreed, was even better than the original), Jen found herself analyzing her friends. She had always been able to apply a certain insight to others' lives that constantly failed her when it came to her own. Now, as she sipped at her water and basked in the presence of people she had missed more than she ever would have guessed, she had come to several conclusions about their collective situation.  
  
First and foremost, two of them were still very much in love with the dark- haired beauty sitting (appropriately) between them. God, how obvious that was. Jen had an idea that if you were to suggest something so radical to Joey herself, you'd be met with blatant disbelief punctuated by a sarcastic, self-deprecating comment that would be more for Joey's own benefit than anyone else's.  
  
Secondly, Joey was absolutely terrified. She had run from a more-or-less stable (if not passionate) relationship in New York and had ended up right back in the chaotic mass of emotions that had defined a good portion of the years she'd spent growing up. Jen doubted that Chris was anywhere near the top of her thoughts at the moment. As Jen watched Joey watching Pacey, the truth was as plain as day. It was in the way her attention never wavered from his lips as he spoke, in the way her focus kept drifting back toward his face and hovering there intently as if she was trying to fix him in her memory for those nights spent curled up next to a man she didn't love.  
  
And Dawson saw it, too. Once, his eyes met Jen's across the table and she read the pain in them. Her heart hurt for him. The best she could manage was a comforting smile in his direction. He averted his gaze and forced a laugh with the others as Pacey animatedly recounted the story of being locked in a K-mart supercenter with Joey overnight.  
  
"Pacey Witter, are you trying to blame me for that?" Joey demanded. "Need I remind you that we wouldn't have been there in the first place if I hadn't been doing you the enormous favor of being your pretend date for the evening? And then you had the nerve to drag me along on your emergency condom run!"  
  
"Now now, Jo, don't rewrite history," Pacey said. "If you hadn't insisted that I accompany you to the bathroom in that lovely bargain-bin establishment, we would have been in and out before they locked the door."  
  
"Whatever, Pacey. Your raging hormones are the real culprit and you know it."  
  
"My hormones? What about your uncooperative bladder?"  
  
"Pace, you are—"  
  
"All right, guys, this could go on all night. In the interest of time and our collective sanity I'm changing the subject," Dawson said loudly, taking a long swig of beer as they all turned to look at him. "So Joey, how's life in the big city? How's your, ah ... how's Chris?"  
  
Jen's eyes widened as she looked from Dawson to Joey, whose amused indignity had given way to utter discomfort in a second's time. She suddenly seemed very interested in her wine glass, and her hand drifted up to tuck a long strand of dark hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture that was and forever would be definitively Joey Potter.  
  
"Everything's fine," she said, and Jen noted that her tone was far too enthusiastic. "Great, I mean. Work's crazy, but things are ... things are good."  
  
"What is it that Chris does, again?"  
  
Jen shot Dawson a warning glance that he either didn't notice or pretended not to. Couldn't he see how awkward this was for her? For Pacey, who was draining his beer glass as if he expected to find answers to the mysteries of the universe in its depths? Of course Dawson saw that, she realized. That was the point.  
  
"He's a stockbroker," Joey said. She looked up from her glass and her gaze locked on Dawson's, almost challenging him to keep this up. "He works on Wall Street."  
  
"Wow, the big time. You guys have been together for a long time now ... how long as it been?"  
  
"Two years."  
  
"That sounds pretty serious. And you moved in with him recently, right? Is that—_ow!_" Dawson looked over at Jen, who had just delivered a sharp kick to his shin under the table.  
  
"Sorry," Jen said innocently. "My foot slipped. Anyway, Andie. Your turn for show and tell. How's Boston life?"  
  
As Andie began her slightly hyper, good-natured monologue on law school and her never-ending search for Mr. Right, Joey caught Jen's eyes and smiled gratefully at her. Jen nodded, giving her a discreet wink.  
  
Hours passed, and the restaurant began to empty around them. Finally they were the only people left on the restaurant's waterfront deck. Overhead, the stars speckled the black sky with crystalline pinpoints of light, millions of them. Jen had forgotten how many stars you could see here. It was something she had always loved about Capeside nights.  
  
"Don't start that," Jack said suddenly, and Jen tore her gaze away from the dazzling sky and looked at him questioningly. "You're yawning," he explained. "You can't be tired; the night's still young."  
  
"Actually, I'm pretty tired myself," Joey said. "I think I'll head back to the B&B."  
  
"Want me to drive you?" Dawson asked immediately, and everyone saw Joey glance toward Pacey before answering.  
  
"Um, no, actually, I think I'll walk. It's such a nice night."  
  
Dawson nodded, disappointment showing in his eyes.  
  
"I have to get back to Boston tomorrow," Andie said. "So I guess this is it for me." She smiled sadly around at her friends. "But we have to do this more often. I mean it. There's no excuse for us to lose touch for as long as we did this time."  
  
"No kidding," Jack said. "Which reminds me ... I'm tired of being the only one everybody still talks to. I know you guys love me and all, but I am officially resigning as the common link of this little group. From now on, Pace, you can call Dawson if you want to know what's up with him; Dawson, you call Jen if you want an update on her; and Andie, you can get your information directly from Joey. No more using me as the grapevine, is that understood? Okay, then..." He put his hand out in the middle of the table, palm down. "Let's vow, here and now, to check in with each other frequently and faithfully."  
  
Hands piled on top of Jack's in a childish gesture of promise. They paused that way for a few moments before pulling apart.  
  
Andie stood up first, and they gathered around her to say their good-byes. "I'll be talking to every single one of you soon," she said firmly.  
  
"Is that a threat or a promise?" Pacey asked as he took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.  
  
Andie clung to him tightly for a long moment, and Jen thought back to her comment on the porch earlier. _Is it possible that we are the only group of twenty-somethings in the world still hung up on our high school sweethearts?_ Jen wondered.  
  
"I'll be right back," Jack said, following his sister out to the parking lot. The remaining four stood there looking at one another, not really wanting to part ways just yet.  
  
"Dawson, when are you going back to L.A.?" Joey asked.  
  
"Probably next week. How about you? How long are you here?"  
  
"I don't know, a day or two. It ... depends." Almost unwillingly, she shot a look in Pacey's direction.  
  
"Will I see you before you go?"  
  
Joey smiled uncomfortably. "Of course. I...I'll give you a call. Bye." She started down the wooden steps that led to the parking lot beside the Icehouse.  
  
"See you, Joey." Pacey's tone wasn't quite right, and though he was smiling, he looked like he was having a really hard time watching her walk away.  
  
Jen chewed at her bottom lip. She felt like grabbing him and shoving him as hard as she could in Joey's direction. _"Go. Go and fix this. Go and do what you should have done years ago, the only thing that's going to make you both happy. I have to see you happy, all of you."_ The thought surprised her, and she realized that she wasn't sure why it affected her so deeply. Another thought answered the question. _"Because their happiness might be the closest I ever get to it."_  
  
Of course she didn't do or say anything. Not with Dawson standing there next to her, not with Dawson watching the person who was also the love of _his_ life walk away and knowing all along that her heart belonged to someone who was, once upon a time, his best friend. Jen raised her hand in a wave to Joey as she glanced behind her before disappearing into the shadows.  
  
Dawson cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going to head home myself," he said. "I'll see you guys, maybe tomorrow?"  
  
"Absolutely. Good to see you, man," Pacey held his hand out, and Dawson gripped it in a firm shake.  
  
"You too, Pace." Then Dawson was gone.  
  
Pacey clapped his hands together. "Well, I guess I need to start closing up."  
  
Jen caught his wrist as he reached to clear away some of the empty glasses littering the table they'd loitered at all night long. "Pacey Witter, what in the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"Huh?" He looked completely taken aback.  
  
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not still in love with that girl."  
  
"What girl?" he asked infuriatingly.  
  
"Pacey. This is not a game. Don't play around with this."  
  
He sniffed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "Jen, she's got a boyfriend. You heard her; she's got a boyfriend she's been with for two years."  
  
"So what? Ask yourself why she came back here."  
  
"She probably wanted to see her sister."  
  
Jen rolled her eyes. "I can see you're going to be your pigheaded self about this. Just trust me. Do you trust me? Have I ever led you astray?"  
  
Pacey pretended to think. "Hmm ... well, maybe a few times."  
  
"How long has it been since you've seen her? Before today?"  
  
"I don't know; maybe six months or so..."  
  
"Joey is going to be here for a day or two before she goes back to New York and back to a relationship that she knows is all wrong for her. I want you to think long and hard about that, and ask yourself if you want it to be another six months before you see her again." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Now I'm going home, and I expect you to have news for me sometime tomorrow."  
  
She left him standing there staring after her as she went to meet Jack in the parking lot. She was tired. Very tired. On the drive back to Jack's house, she drifted off to sleep. She dreamed of a little girl who resembled Lily Leery, running along the beach, tangled blonde curls blowing in the breeze. Her friends were there. Pacey and Joey were holding hands. Dawson was smiling. Jack stood between Jen and Doug, one arm slung around each of them. There was peace.  
  
And in the dream, when she thought of David, it didn't hurt at all. 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, my beloved reviewers! Kel, what would I do without you? You really make me feel good, especially since I'm such a fan of your stories and I know I can't hold a candle to your depiction of Pacey and Joey. You're the master when it comes to those two, so your compliments really mean a lot! And thanks for putting so much thought into your reviews; I truly appreciate that. You are RIGHT ON TARGET with them, too; everything you said was everything I intended for you to get out of that last chapter. Notlikeyou, Britgirl, PhoenixFirefly, Katieshaz, Erin, and Liz, thank you for reviewing again! Phoenix, I put a teensy bit of Dougie in here just for you. :) Sam, my brain twin, are we still safe from coincidences? Okay, read on and let me know what you think!**  
  
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The nausea came back with a vengeance around 4:30 in the morning. Jen sat miserably on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, her back propped against the tub and her eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to regain control of her stomach. How long did the morning sickness phase of pregnancy last, anyway? She could be in for a really long seven months if it kept going this way.  
  
She had been dreaming about David just before the baby had rather unpleasantly intervened. It had not been a comforting, serene dream like the one she'd had in Jack's car on the way home from the Icehouse earlier. This one had left her feeling cold, as she had the night she'd last seen him, when he had shattered her heart with just a few badly chosen words. But that wasn't all, was it? No. What had hurt the most, then and now, was what he had failed to do, to say. What hurt the most was watching him topple from the pedestal she had so carefully constructed for him during the course of their relationship, and the fact that he didn't even seem to notice when he hit the ground.  
  
His phone call on the way home from Dawson's had finalized everything. He wanted to know where she was, he was concerned, and Jen was disgusted by the realization that his concern touched her. She was ashamed that she had left herself so open, her heart so vulnerable, when she had every right in the world to hate him now. He wanted to know if she had changed her mind, "come to her senses." And the really horrible part was that she had been tempted, just for a brief moment but one that made her hate herself, to tell him "yes."  
  
She hadn't, thank God. What she had told him was that he could use his key to her apartment, gather the things he had left there, and go. That she would come back when she felt like coming back, and that she would appreciate it if he wouldn't try to contact her again. That she and the baby would be fine.  
  
"Jenny, this isn't what I wanted," he'd said, a slight pleading note creeping into his faraway voice. And she knew he meant it.  
  
"Me neither," she'd said, willing herself to hang on to her bravado for just a little longer. "But it's what we've got."  
  
"I still love you."  
  
"I know." It took all of her willpower not to say it back. Her next words surprised her, but they came on their own, just as a single tear slipped silently down her cheek and soaked into her lap. "I've always loved your eyes," she said. "I hope the baby has your eyes. Goodbye, David."  
  
And so ended the relationship she had been certain would be The One. Now, on the floor of Jack and Doug's guest bathroom, she refused to let herself cry again. That part should be done. Now she had to move on, for herself, for the little one growing inside her. And if she could play some small role in bringing happiness to her friends, then that was all the better.  
  
Strangely enough, suddenly Jack was there, silhouetted in the bathroom doorway in boxers and an undershirt, his hair rumpled and his eyes concerned.  
  
"Hey, are you all right?" he asked.  
  
To her own surprise, she laughed. "No," she said. "Not really."  
  
"Can I get you something?"  
  
"You can sit with me," she said.  
  
He didn't need her to explain. They knew each other, in some ways better than they knew themselves. All he needed to know was that she was hurting, physically and deeper than that, and she needed him. He lowered himself to the floor beside her and put his strong arms around her, drawing her face into his chest. She let the tears come then, no longer afraid to let Jack see her cry, no longer able to prevent it.  
  
"It's going to be okay," he muttered softly into her hair, and she was silently grateful to him for not trying to tell her it already was. "We're going to make it through this."  
  
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She slept late, once she finally got back to bed. When she woke up for real, it was almost noon and the sun was shining brightly through the window. She rolled over and sat up cautiously, waiting to see if her stomach was going to give her any more trouble. It didn't. It seemed that she had gotten the sickness out of her system (literally and figuratively) in the wee hours of the morning. Thank God for small favors.  
  
"Morning, sunshine," Jack said when she went downstairs and found him in the kitchen. "There's still coffee, if you want some."  
  
"Ah, don't do that to me, Jack!" she said. "You know I'm trying not to."  
  
"Sorry, I forgot. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Better," she said. "Much better. Thanks for..."  
  
He waved her words away with his hand. "Don't," he said. "You know that's what I'm here for."  
  
"I heard a rumor that we had company," Doug said cheerfully, coming in dressed in his sheriff's uniform. "And damned if it isn't my competition for Jack's affection."  
  
Jen smiled and turned to hug him. "That's right, and don't you forget it," she said. "How's my second favorite Witter?"  
  
"Not bad, not bad," he said. "And how's my Jack's soul mate?"  
  
"Well, now that I've gotten the day's vomiting out of the way, I'm fine."  
  
"Glad to hear it. And congratulations on the little one. Now I've got to get out of here and go make the streets of Capeside safe for everyone." He moved over to kiss Jack.  
  
"Yeah, because Capeside is a hotbed of crime and corruption," Jen teased.  
  
"Just because you're used to the drama of New York City doesn't mean we don't have our own brand. I mean, just the other day I caught two teenagers in the act of vandalizing the high school with a jumbo pack of toilet paper."  
  
"Wow, that's impressive. Are they going straight to the chair, or just a life sentence?"  
  
"Watch it," Doug said warningly. "Today's juvenile delinquent is tomorrow's serial killer."  
  
"Will you be home for dinner?" Jack asked. "I think we're going to meet up with Dawson and Joey and Pacey later."  
  
"I don't know, we'll see. Big day today, my deputy's on vacation..."  
  
Jack nodded. "Well, call me later."  
  
When he had gone, Jack sighed deeply and drained the last of his coffee. Jen raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that for?" she asked.  
  
"It's like pulling teeth to get him to go out in public with me."  
  
"You remember how hard it was, though, right?"  
  
"Yes, but I got over it. He should, too."  
  
"If only all men were as enlightened as we are," she said. "We'd both be golden."  
  
Jack nodded and put his coffee mug in the sink. "I've got a teacher's meeting this afternoon at the school. What are your plans today?"  
  
Jen thought. "I think I'll go and visit Joey."  
  
"You're not trying to play matchmaker, are you?"  
  
"Who, me?" she asked innocently. "Whatever would make you think that?"  
  
"Be careful," he warned. "That's a dangerous game."  
  
"Come on, Jack, did you see the way they were looking at each other last night? I'm just going to do my part to make them admit that they still have unresolved feelings. And then I'll step back and let nature take its course."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Okay, but if it blows up in your face, don't say I didn't warn you." He kissed her on the cheek. "Take it easy today, okay?"  
  
"Yes, Dad."  
  
"I mean it. You've had a rough time lately, and it can't be good for the baby."  
  
"I know," she said. "And the best medicine for sadness is to make someone else happy. So that's what I'm going to do for our friends."  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
Joey and Jen sat on chairs near the water in the backyard of the B&B. Their companionable silence was nice, refreshing, but there was something behind it. Jen was waiting for a good moment to bring up Pacey's name and gauge the reaction. It turned out she didn't have to. Joey did it first.  
  
"It's so weird, being back here," she began, staring out at the softly rippling water of the creek. "I mean, it's all so familiar, so constant, and I know every part of it like the back of my hand, but I don't feel like I'm a part of it anymore. I don't feel like it's mine anymore. But seeing them again ... Dawson and Jack and Andie—and Pacey—that's different. I still feel like we all belong. We all fit together in a way that I never have with anyone else."  
  
Jen waited for her to go on, almost holding her breath.  
  
Joey laughed. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"  
  
"Yes, you are. Absolutely."  
  
"I've missed everything about my old life. That's something I didn't know until I saw their faces again. I've missed Bessie and Alexander and this house and this creek. I've missed Dawson and the connection that we still seem to have, somehow, even after all this time." She gave Jen a sideways glance. "And I've missed Pacey. He hasn't changed."  
  
"We've all changed, Jo. Pacey has grown up, just like all of us have."  
  
"But underneath that, he's still the same sweet, good-intentioned kid that I grew up with. He's still the exciting, adventurous, romantic guy that swept me away for the best summer of my life. And the one who broke my heart."  
  
"Yeah, he is." Jen looked at Joey, squinting in the bright sunlight. "How do you feel about that?"  
  
Joey hesitated. "You sound like a therapist."  
  
"I've certainly been to enough of them to have picked up the lingo. Answer the question."  
  
"I guess I ... I'm not supposed to feel this way, Jen, but I can't help it. When I'm with him, I feel whole. Like I've been missing the Pacey part of myself, and now I've found it again. That's crazy, though, isn't it?"  
  
"Who says you're not supposed to?"  
  
"I'm in a relationship. Chris and I are planning our future together."  
  
"Hmm, it sounded to me like you were running away from those plans."  
  
"Jen, stop it."  
  
"What? Isn't that what you told me?"  
  
"Yes, but ... I mean, that's not exactly ... I do that, I run away when things get serious. But it doesn't mean I don't want to be with him. I came back here because I was trying to clear my head, that's all. Seeing Pacey has just sort of shaken me up. Seeing him and Dawson together, back in this town, is just a little too Twilight Zone for me. I feel like we've stepped back in time."  
  
"Back to when you were in love with Pacey."  
  
"Jen."  
  
"I'll stop." She looked away and cleared her throat. "But I'm a firm believer in instincts, Jo. Your first reaction when you found out Chris was thinking marriage was to run. And not just anywhere, you ran back here. Back to where Pacey is and your history will always be. I don't think that's a coincidence. I don't think that's just because you had nowhere else to go ... do you?"  
  
The two stared at each other, Joey at a loss for words, Jen hoping she had made a dent in Joey's armor. And when Dawson showed up several minutes later, the relief Joey felt at having an excuse to change the subject was written all over her face. 


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Okay, Sam, you caught me in one of my inconsistencies, darn it. Doug technically wouldnt be living with Jack at this point in time, if Im going to be true to the finale (and I really am trying). So, I must ask you all to ignore references to Jack and Dougs house, guest bathroom, etc., for the sake of accuracy and clarity. They are not living together, but Doug stays over sometimes. Does that work? :) Thanks for the kind words, and Im so glad you think Im getting Jens perspective right. I really wanted to do her justice because she is such a wonderful character to explore. Phoenix Firefly, thanks for the review, and I hope you stick to your guns and avoid The OC like the plague! (Just kidding; Ive never seen the show myself, but I cant imagine it living up to the untouchable legacy of D.C.) Please keep reviewing, and let me know if you like this next chapter.**  
  
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Leaving Joey and Dawson alone together at the B&B didn't seem like the greatest idea in the world, not with Joey silently begging her to stay and fend off the awkwardness, but Jen felt it was a necessary one. Joey had several things to come to terms with while she was in town, and one of them, perhaps the biggest one aside from her feelings for Pacey, was her relationship with Dawson. It had changed, it had damn near dissolved, and it was high time they got back to a point where they could put the slights and heartaches of the past behind them and find their common ground of friendship, shared childhood, and memories of the innocence of first love. Jen wouldn't stand in the way of that.  
  
So she had made her excuses and left them there, and when Joey followed her out to her car and asked if she really had to go, Jen had turned and fixed her with a steady stare that left no room for argument.  
  
"Get back in there and talk to him," she'd said firmly. "Jo, I know this is hard for you, but you've got to do it. You and Dawson share too much to let it just fall through the cracks at this point in life. We're still young; there's still time to make things right, but that won't always be the case. Do you want to suddenly realize when you're ninety-nine and lying in your deathbed that the biggest mistake you ever made in your life was letting the best friend you ever had slip out of it? And for what? Because you're both too stubborn to try to patch things up?" Jen smiled. "Not on my watch, sister."  
  
Joey chewed her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I'm just ... I guess I'm not ready to know just how far apart we've drifted. I'm still reeling from our last phone conversation."  
  
"That's why you've got to do this."  
  
With that, Jen had left her friends to sort things out on their own. With no plan in mind, she'd ended up on the beach, a quiet stretch not far from the Icehouse that appealed to her for its solitude more than anything. She took off her sandals and walked toward the softly lapping waves of the shore, relishing the warm sand beneath her feet and the breeze in her hair. This was something you almost forgot about when you lived in the city, she thought. This was cleansing, replenishing. It could almost mend the broken pieces.  
  
Placing a hand on her stomach, she gazed out at the endless stretch of bluish-green in front of her and inhaled deeply. "Baby, you're going to love this place as much as I do," she said softly. "But don't let it get away from you like I have, okay? I want you to always feel connected to it, even if life pulls you in another direction. You don't have to erase your past to have a future."  
  
A lesson it had taken years to learn the hard way. She now knew that was exactly what she had done wrong in the beginning.  
  
When she'd first come to Capeside, dragging years of emotional baggage and still reeling from the changes that had swept across her life without warning, she was determined to bury the person she'd been up to that point. She'd been moderately successful at that, too—for a while, anyway. And then remnants of her past had caught up with her—Abby Morgan had drowned, Drue Valentine had come to town and reminded her of who she had been before, Andie had almost died and she had almost lost Jack because of it... Hiding from yourself was harder than it might seem.  
  
Fast-forward a few years: She was back in New York, Jack had left and returned to Capeside to start his own life, and Jen was faced with the task of building a new version of hers.  
  
And the first thing she had done was fall in lust with David Marshall. Later it was love, but at first it was lust. She wasn't naïve enough to even bother telling herself it had been more. And what had she done? She had systematically severed ties with her Capeside self and the people who had become a part of her there. She held on to Jack, who wouldn't let her go no matter how hard she pushed him, but the others she began to erase from her mind. (Only her mind, never her heart. Late at night when she was lying next to David and half asleep, they always came back to her.)  
  
That's why her monthly outings with Joey were so guarded, so careful. They had both been lying to themselves, to each other. They had both wandered too far from home and were scared to look back and see what they'd lost in the tedious process of growing up.  
  
Jen smiled to herself now, still looking out over the water. "Okay, so pregnancy makes you overly introspective," she muttered.  
  
"What, are you kidding? You've always been that way."  
  
Jen gasped and spun around to see Pacey walking toward her from the direction of the restaurant, grinning mischievously. "Damn it! People have got to stop doing that to me," she said, laughing in spite of her rapidly beating heart.  
  
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I was working in my office, and I looked out the window and could have sworn that I saw a beautiful, unescorted blonde standing out here by the water. I had to come down for a closer look. So ... have you seen her?" He pretended to scan the deserted strip of beach expectantly.  
  
Jen rolled her eyes, laughing again. "Joey's right. You are a jerk, Pace."  
  
"A lovable one though, right?"  
  
"Marginally," Jen said.  
  
"That's better than nothing. So, are you okay?"  
  
Jen paused, considering the question carefully. "Actually, yeah. I am."  
  
"You sound surprised."  
  
"I am that, too." She narrowed her eyes and gave him a searching look, characteristically deflecting the attention away from herself. "Have you thought about what we discussed last night?"  
  
"Discussed, huh? I don't quite remember a discussion, per se. I remember you giving orders and me shrugging them off the way I always do with questionable advice, and..."  
  
"Shall I take your sarcasm as a no, then?"  
  
"Not so fast," he said, holding a hand up. "I have thought about it, believe it or not. In fact, I spent most of last night pondering your words of wisdom, Jen, and I decided that you're right. You're absolutely right. I can't let her go back to New York without knowing how I feel. I mean ... I know it probably won't make a difference, but I just want it out on the table, you know?" He chuckled nervously. "So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to finish up my inventory at the restaurant and I'm going to head over to the B&B and I'm going to spill my heart into Joey Potter's hands for what I'm figuring is at _least_ the third time, and that's a conservative estimate. And when you get right down to it, that's where my heart's always been, so I've got nothing to lose, right? So, does that sound like a plan?"  
  
Jen was touched by his nervous rambling, by the hopeful light that was dancing in his eyes, and she braced herself for the next thing she had to tell him. "That's a great plan, Pace, but you might want to hold off just a little longer."  
  
He looked at her with blatant surprise. "Excuse me? Is this Jennifer 'Follow Your Heart' Lindley speaking? Did you just tell me to hold off?"  
  
Jen closed her eyes briefly and went on in a gentle tone. "She's with Dawson right now, Pace. They're ... talking."  
  
Pacey couldn't quite hide his kicked-in-the-stomach expression. "Oh."  
  
"No, stop that. It's not what you're thinking. We're so far past that, Pacey!"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure the soul mate thing has probably expired by now, right?" he said sarcastically.  
  
"I am only telling you this so that you don't go running over there and land smack in the middle of the incredible tension that always seems to spring up whenever the three of you are in the same place at the same time." Jen reached for his hand and squeezed it firmly. "I am NOT telling you this so you'll have an excuse to chicken out. Because that's not an option."  
  
He nodded, but the light in his eyes was fading already. "I guess I'll get back to work. You want to come up with me? Have a drink on the house?"  
  
Patting her belly, she nodded. "Nonalcoholic, of course," she said.  
  
"Of course." He put his arm around her shoulders as they made their way back up the beach toward the Icehouse. 


	9. Chapter 9

Something was different between Joey and Dawson that evening. Jen noticed it as the group lounged casually around Jack's living room, chatting easily over pizza and beer (water for Jen). The previous night, there had been a wall that separated the two old friends; a wall that was more sensed than seen. It was in the way they hardly ever met each other's eyes, in the way he stepped tentatively around her as if she was shielded by an electrical force field that threatened to shock him if he got too close. It was in the way she jumped like she'd been scalded when her hand accidentally brushed his.

And now that wall was gone. Now, they sat side by side on the floor, their shoulders almost touching and their backs braced against the couch where Pacey was sprawled out, glancing down at them occasionally with a look that told Jen without a doubt that he noticed the difference, too.

Doug had joined them when his shift was over, and now he was perched on the arm of Jack's chair, resting a hand affectionately on his shoulder. There was a light in Jack's eyes when he looked up at Doug, a sense of happiness, of _rightness_. Jen fixed the image in her mind, the two of them smiling at each other, all insecurities and fears and doubts forgotten and insignificant in the safety of this place among these people.

_Stay that way. Stay happy, stay in love, stay together. Be a family._

The thought mildly surprised her, but she dismissed it and pried her attention away from Jack and Doug, back to Dawson, who was much more animated tonight than he had been at their Icehouse reunion. He regaled them with stories of production on his show, of casting mishaps and behind-the-scenes catastrophes, until they were all laughing as if life were always this easy and this good.

Even Pacey couldn't help laughing, though his gaze kept wandering back to her, taking in her radiant smile and the careless sweep of dark hair resting on her shoulders. Once, Jen saw him reach down and brush a finger lightly across that hair. Joey didn't notice. When he looked up and saw Jen watching him, he smiled a little sheepishly, and Jen gave him a solemn wink.

"Can't you make Sam a little less ... _conflicted_?" Joey asked. "I mean, come on, Dawson, I realize that I'm not known for always being rock-solid in my convictions, but I wasn't such a head case at that age, was I?"

"This is _Sam_, not Joey," Dawson said. "She's _loosely_ based on you. Loosely being the key word. Nothing to be offended by."

"That's not going to hold up in court, buddy," Jack said. "Jimmy, your confused teenage homosexual who was forced out of the closet by the sadistic English teacher who made him read his imagery-laden poem to the whole class ... I'd have to say that's more than just a passing similarity."

"It's art imitating life, isn't that what you always say? Imitating _our_ life," Joey said teasingly.

"Sometimes verbatim," Jen chimed in. "I have an hour-long bout of déjà vu every Wednesday night at eight o'clock."

"Seriously, man, were you recording our conversations back then? Because we might have some legal recourse if that's the case," Jack said. "We should at least get some royalties out of this deal, don't ya think?"

Pacey grinned. "Hey, I'm not complaining about Petey," he said. "That kid's a Witter in the making."

Doug frowned. "Speak for yourself, little brother. That kid's an ass, just like the guy he's 'loosely based' on."

Joey turned around and rolled her eyes at Pacey. "You're just happy because he's the only one on the show who's getting any."

"Oh, I seriously doubt the hot little blonde number from New York is as virginal as he's trying to make her out to be," Jen said, smiling. "The producer here would never depart from history that completely. So tell me, Mr. Leery, now that Lynn and Colby are broken up, is she going to return next season as a nymphomaniac with an alcohol problem, or what?"

"I can't give out that kind of information," he said good-naturedly. "Just promise not to get mad at me for anything that might happen to our friends on 'The Creek.' Remember the phrase 'creative license.' All of you."

Jen rolled her eyes. "Sure thing, Dawson. And you remember the phrase 'sue your ass for slander.'"

When at last the conversation was dying down and the laughter was beginning to give way to yawns, Joey suddenly spoke up in a much more serious tone.

"I'm going back to New York tomorrow," she said.

The announcement seemed to hang in the air for a few moments. Pacey froze with his beer bottle halfway to his mouth and stared at her. Dawson raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. Jen could almost feel the surge of emotion that had shot through both of them upon hearing those words.

"Are you sure, Jo? Are you sure you're ready?" she asked quietly, trying unsuccessfully to read the expression in her friend's eyes.

"It's not really a matter of being ready," Joey said, studying her fingernails. "I have to get back to work. I have to ... take care of some things. I ... it's time."

"But you just got here," Dawson protested softly, suddenly sounding very young and vulnerable.

"I know," she said, her voice huskier than usual. "I would stay if I could. I can't." She turned slightly so that she could look at Pacey. With a visible effort, he gave her a little smile that seemed to physically hurt him.

"Of course you can't," he said in a funny tone. "The Big Apple awaits."

Joey's worried face relaxed a little. "Yeah," she said. "I guess it does."

The party died quickly after that, as if someone had pulled the plug. Jen suggested that the guys go in the kitchen and start cleaning up, and when they complied (which was surprising in itself), Jen took Joey by the arm and steered her outside onto the front porch.

"What's up?" Joey asked.

"That's what I was going to ask you, Jo."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you talk to Chris? Is that why you're going back?"

Joey looked at the ground.

Jen sighed heavily. "I see."

"No. No, you don't see, Jen," Joey protested sharply. "Look, I didn't think things through before I came back here. I just took off, like I always do. I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't fair to Christopher. It wasn't fair to ... to them." A glance back toward the house indicated, unnecessarily, what "them" she was referring to. "I never wanted to hurt them again, Jen! That's the last thing I wanted to do. I swear I didn't know they still had feelings for me. I thought that was all in the past. And I sure as hell didn't know that I ..." She broke off and bit down on her lip.

Jen held her gaze steadily. "What? Finish."

"I didn't know I still had feelings for him."

Jen didn't need to ask which "him" Joey meant. "Pacey."

Joey's eyes filled with tears, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to choke back a sob.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going back. I'm going to think about whether or not I should accept Christopher's proposal. It's the safest thing to do. It's the only way I can make sure that this really is all in the past. I've hurt them for the last time."

"That's the coward's way out, Joey." Jen looked at her friend with a strange mixture of anger and sympathy. "Don't try to dress it up as something noble."

Joey looked surprised, stung. "I love Chris."

Jen nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure you do," she said. "But you sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

"What's the matter with you, Jen? Why can't you just let it go and let me do what I need to do?"

Jen rolled her eyes, frustrated. "Because I love you, Joey. And I love Dawson and I love Pacey, and I hate this situation. It's been going on for far too many years for me to just stand by and keep my mouth shut, no matter how much you'd like me to make this easier on you. You guys made me an active participant in this triangle a long time ago, so whether or not you realize it, I do have a stake in this. I'm not going to stand in your way, but I'm not going to let you think I agree that you're doing the right thing, either. I think you're making a huge mistake that could cost you and Pacey the only happiness either of you might ever find."

The girls stood staring at each other for several long moments. The silence was broken when the door opened and Dawson and Pacey came out onto the porch.

"Uh, what do you think, Dawson, bad timing?" Pacey asked, looking from Jen to Joey and back.

"Maybe so, I'm definitely picking up a weird vibe."

"We didn't interrupt a cat fight, did we?" Pacey asked. "Because if we did, don't let us stop you. Carry on; we can referee."

Joey rolled her eyes. "No, Pace, don't get your hopes up. We were just talking."

Jen nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, and I think we were done. Right Jo?"

"Right."

Dawson took a deep breath and held his arms out to Joey. She leaned in and embraced him, and next to Jen, Pacey stiffened. "I hate to do this, but I'm exhausted. I've got to get home before I pass out. Will I see you at all tomorrow?"

"I'm leaving pretty early," she said.

"I'll get up earlier," he said. "I'll come by the B&B to see you off."

"You don't have to do that, Dawson."

"I know. I want to." He turned to Pacey and Jen. "See you guys tomorrow, too."

They watched him walk to his car. When he was starting out of the driveway, Jen faced the remaining two and fixed each of them with a meaningful stare. "I'm going to bed," she said. "Pace..."

He managed to tear his gaze away from Joey to look at her questioningly.

"Joey is leaving Capeside tomorrow," she said as if she were delivering this news for the first time. "She's going back to New York. Tomorrow."

He tried to smile, but the smile faltered in the face of her pointed, straightforward look. "So she is," he said. "I know."

Jen nodded. "All right then." She reached out to squeeze Joey's arm, patted Pacey on the back, and started inside. "Good night."

She felt like crying for them. She felt like screaming at them. _"Life is short, love is hard to come by, and you're both idiots for throwing it away."_ That's what she wanted to say.

But she didn't. Instead, she went upstairs and began to undress. As she leaned over the sink to brush her teeth, she again thought of Jack and Doug, and the simplicity of the contentment she had seen in both sets of eyes as they sat together sharing friends and laughter and loving gestures. She was truly glad to see her best friend in the world so happy, she _was_ ... but at the same time she felt a stab of sorrow, thinking of her own life, her own sorry love life that had come to a screeching halt in a tangle of bedsheets, a faulty condom, and a bitter spout of unchangeable words. She rinsed the toothpaste out of her mouth and looked at her reflection in the mirror, surprised to see tears on her cheeks.

And then there was another surprise, a sharp one. Something that felt like a red-hot ice pick shot through her chest, suddenly and without warning. She gasped and clutched the corner of the sink. Just as fleetingly, the pain was gone. It left her gasping for breath, and it left a dull burning sensation around her heart. This time, though, she didn't pass out. Not like the last time.

She reached up to rub her chest with her hand, taking in slow, deep breaths. She wondered what was wrong with her. She wondered if she even wanted to know.


	10. Chapter 10

"Your glove compartment is ringing."

"Huh?" Jen looked over at Jack, who was sitting in her passenger seat and eyeing the glove box suspiciously. "Oh. My cell phone. Let it go to voice mail."

He paused as it rang again. "Could be Grams, though."

"I'll call her back if it is."

"You sure? You don't want me to—"

"Damn it, Jack, I said let it go!" she snapped. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she stopped herself and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not feeling all that well."

"Really? I couldn't tell," he said in a softly sarcastic tone. "Is it the morning sickness again?"

"Yeah. That's what it is." She kept her eyes fixed determinedly on the road.

"Did you sleep okay last night?" he asked after a period of blessed silence. "Cause you look rough."

"Well thanks, Jack. A girl always likes to hear that."

"You know what I mean. You look tired, Jen. Did you have trouble sleeping?"

"Maybe. Is that a crime? God, what's with the interrogation?"

He sized her up and then seemed to think better of pursuing the matter. Her bad mood was radiating off her in waves, and he knew her well enough to know he shouldn't push his luck now. But he really didn't like the way she looked; dark circles were etched under her puffy, bloodshot eyes, and there was something else, too ... fatigue seemed to have settled into her face overnight, making her look older than she was. Too old for her age.

When they pulled up in the driveway of the Potter B&B, Pacey and Dawson were already there, both of them leaning against Pacey's car and talking. No sign of Joey, though. Jen parked the car next to them, glanced over at Jack, and forced a smile. "Hey," she said. "I'll try to stop biting your head off, okay?"

"That would be very nice of you," he said.

She pointed a finger at him. "But only if you stop looking at me like you think I'm about to have a nervous breakdown. Deal?"

He nodded. "Fine, it's a deal. Just ... don't."

"Don't what?"

"Have a nervous breakdown. I've seen those up close before. They're not pretty."

"Damn, that was in bad taste," Jen said dryly, getting out of the car.

"J and J, long time no see," Pacey said cheerfully, hopping down from his perch on the trunk of his car. "Never fear, you haven't missed her; she's still inside packing up. You know, it's one of the mysteries of the universe why women feel the need to pack every piece of clothing they've ever owned for a weekend getaway. Jen, why do you guys do that?"

She took Pacey by the elbow. "Excuse us, boys," she said over her shoulder to Dawson and Jack as she began pulling him away from the car. "Pacey and I are going to take a walk."

"We are?" Pacey asked, puzzled. Then, when she pulled him harder, "Okay, apparently so." He adjusted his speed so that he didn't fall flat on his face. "All right, Jen ... has anyone ever told you that you could use a few lessons in the art of subtlety?"

"Can it, Witter. What happened last night?"

He almost made another characteristic crack, then decided against it and sighed deeply. "Nothing."

"Nothing? What do you mean, nothing? Did you talk to her? I know you talked to her, I left you talking to her. What happened?"

He shook his head, and she saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "I tried, Jen. I tried to tell her. She didn't want to hear it."

"Of course she didn't want to hear it, Pace. This is Joey we're talking about. She never wants to hear what she needs to hear. So what did you do?"

"She made me stop talking. She put her finger to my lips and said 'Please don't make this any harder than it already is.' And she kissed me."

"She kissed you?"

"It was a goodbye kiss, plain and simple. She's going to marry New York Guy, Jen."

"She can't!"

He shrugged, his self-protective wall re-emerging in front of her eyes. "Yes, she can. She's a free woman. You might not like it, I might not like it, Dawson over there might not like it, but it's Joey's decision. She knows how I feel. I told her. And she's still leaving." He took a deep breath and smiled sadly. "So there you have it. At least I don't have any regrets. I don't have to lie awake every night wondering what might have happened if I had told her the truth. Because I did. And it didn't make a difference."

Jen looked past Pacey, out at the sparkling water of the creek, frowning. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Pacey and Joey were meant to be together. What was Joey thinking?

"I have to go talk to her," she muttered, almost to herself.

Pacey reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, urging her to look at him. "There's nothing you can do now," he said. "Look, if there was a way ... if it was supposed to happen ... I'm doing everything I can to just let it go now, okay? Let me hold on to some self-respect here."

They looked at each other for a long time. When she finally looked away, he took that as a sign that she was dropping the matter. "Are you feeling all right?" he asked her.

"Yes, why?" she said too quickly.

"You just look—"

"Tired. I know. I am." She turned from him and began walking slowly back toward Jack and Dawson. Pacey followed her.

As the four of them waited by the cars to say their goodbyes to Joey, Jen leaned back lazily against Jack, who started massaging her shoulders. She began to feel strangely distant, as if none of this was really happening.

The sun beat down its familiar warmth on her head, making her drowsy, making her eyes and her brain ache, taking her friends' voices and turning them into monotonous drones speaking foreign words. It occurred to her that the nausea was coming back. So she hadn't really lied to Jack when she told him that was what was wrong with her.

She rested a hand on her stomach and pressed gently as if to assure herself that one thing, at least, was still real. The baby inside of her was real. The new firmness there had a couple of months yet to start rounding itself out into a noticeable shape, but the baby was in there. David's baby. Her baby. Theirs. The sole living reminder that there had been a couple named David and Jennifer, and that they had shared something, if not love. Something solid. Something real. Something capable of creating. The baby who had driven his true colors to the surface and forced Jen to accept what she had suspected and denied throughout much of their relationship. The one who would never know her father. The one who might have his eyes and have no frame of reference to believe that except for her mother's own affirmation. Mother. The word loomed with implications and frightening expectations, of unconditional love and healing touches and power to stop the world from spinning.

Spinning ... she was spinning ...

_"Jen? Hey Jen! Dawson, help me, help me!"_Jack's voice came from incredibly far away; so far that it was tinny and hollow. Jen wondered briefly if she should be concerned, if she should ask him what was wrong, but before she could do that, she slipped into the soothing cool darkness that beckoned from all around her. It was nice here. It was nice not to worry. To not care if Joey and Pacey found happiness or if her darling Jack was taken care of ... it was such a relief....

"She's coming around."

"Here's the washcloth."

"Put it on her head. Jen? Can you hear me? Answer me if you can hear me."

"Mmph," Jen managed, opening her eyes slowly and trying to focus on the collage of concerned faces that hovered above her. Something cold and wet was trickling down her forehead into her ears, and she realized vaguely that it was water from the washcloth someone had put on her head. "What happened?" she asked, focusing first on Jack, who was kneeling next to her and supporting her head.

"Whoa, not so fast," he said. "Don't sit up yet, okay? Just lie here. Everything's okay."

"You fainted," Joey said.

"You scared the hell out of us," Pacey added. "Geez, woman! Are you all right?"

"I think so," Jen said.

"Here, drink this," Dawson said, appearing above her and handing her a cup of water. She raised her head with Jack's help and took a sip of the cool liquid. It made her feel better. Against Jack's protests, she pushed herself up on her elbows and made her way into a sitting position, realizing that she was now inside the B&B. Someone must have carried her in.

A sudden, frightening thought occurred to her, and she looked at Jack in alarm. "Oh, God, I didn't hit the ground, did I? The baby..."

"No," he said quickly. "I caught you before you fell, thank God. But I think we should take you to the hospital and have you checked out."

Jen shook her head. "No, Jack, I'm fine now."

"Jen, don't argue, okay?"

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression that I was capable of making my own decisions. I'm really all right."

Pacey smiled mischievously. "There's our girl," he said. "See? Now I believe she's fine; the attitude's back."

Jen smiled back at him gratefully as Jack, Joey, and Dawson continued to frown at her. "Pregnant women faint sometimes, guys," she said. "It was hot, and I just stood up for too long."

Pacey winked up at Joey. "Way to go, Potter. Your packing procrastination almost killed our friend."

She slapped him half-heartedly on the shoulder, and for a moment it seemed like old times. Then she kneeled down next to Jen too. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Absolutely." Jen paused. "Unless my being less than all right would keep you in town a little longer...?"

"Nice try."

"No dice?"

"Come on, Jo, the least you can do is stay in town long enough to make sure you didn't cause her any long-term damage," Pacey said, still in his boyishly teasing tone. For a moment all of them seemed to be holding their breath as Joey studied Jen's face.

"Well, I'm not even done packing yet. And I am kind of dreading the ride back. I hate to miss out on all the action around here." She glanced around at each of them in turn. "You know what, I'm going to stay for one more night. One," she emphasized when Pacey opened his mouth to speak again.

Jen finally persuaded them to let her stand up, and she felt more like herself again. She pushed the whole occurrence out of her mind, convincing her friends that she was just experiencing normal pregnant-woman problems. She was almost able to convince herself of that, as well. Almost.


	11. Chapter 11

"Jack McPhee."

"Mmm?"

"I'm going to say this one time and one time only. If you don't stop sneaking these surreptitious glances at me when you think my attention is elsewhere, I'm gonna be forced to beat the ever-loving crap out of you."

Jack looked at Jen over the tops of his sunglasses, then shrugged dismissively. "So be it. I just wish you'd reconsider going to the doctor. I think it's pretty irresponsible of you not to, is all."

"Well thanks for your unsolicited disapproval," Jen said in her irritated-but-trying-not-to-sound-like-it tone. "Maybe next time I'll ask for it."

"Whatever." He pushed his shades back into place and turned away from her.

"Guys, stop it," Joey intervened, sitting up and squinting over at the two of them sternly.

"Yeah, no one wants to listen to the two of you squabble," Pacey added.

All five remaining members of their tenacious little group were currently sprawled in various positions along the pier behind Dawson's house, letting the lazy afternoon slip slowly by. They had been enjoying a stretch of pleasant silence when Jen had sensed yet another concerned look shoot toward her from Jack, who was lying on his back next to her. His concern was oddly irritating. She wanted to forget about the morning's events and just relish this easy, uncomplicated time with old friends. Damn Jack for his valid worries. Irresponsible. One more twig thrown on her bonfire of insecurity.

"Squabble?" Jen said, pushing her annoyance at Jack aside with an amused smirk toward Pacey. "Sorry, Pace, I didn't realize how opposed you are to _squabbling._"

"Are you making fun of my word choice, Lindley? Because I'll have you know that what you and your gay counterpart over there are doing is the very _definition_ of squabbling. In case you're not as enlightened as yours truly, that's classified as a noisy altercation over matters that are usually petty and trivial."

Joey burst out laughing, a fresh, simple sound that melded into the brightness of the day. "Have you been studying vocabulary, Pacey?" she asked. "Planning to take your SATs and finally for that ever-elusive college degree, are you?"

"Ouch," Jack said with a laugh.

"That was brutal, Jo." Pacey said, but he was smiling. "You'd think I'd be impervious to your heartless remarks after all these years, but alas..."

Jen couldn't help but shoot her own surreptitious glance their way, just in time to catch the look that passed between them. The spark. It was there, same as it always had been. God only knew why they were so blind to it themselves. Why did Joey have to be so ... _Joey_? Not for the first time, Jen felt a pang of regret for her friends, and a new emotion, as well: an odd sense of responsibility that she couldn't quite attribute to anything that made sense. Suddenly she couldn't shake the feeling that she was failing them. She thought of Christopher, Joey's laughably brooding artist boyfriend who wanted to marry her. She thought of the sparkle that Joey's eyes never had when they met for drinks at their bar in New York and skated around all things Capeside. The sparkle that was so evident right now as she looked at the man who would happily rip out his beating heart and hand it to her if called upon to do so.

What must it be like to be loved like that? To _love_ like that? She had loved David, she supposed, at least as far as she could overlook his glaring flaws (and hadn't she managed to develop a kind of selective perception where those were concerned, so that she almost didn't notice them toward the end? She thought so). But it had never been like what Joey and Pacey shared, then and now—whether they knew it or not.

She felt a hand on her arm and looked over at Dawson, who was stretched out on her other side.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, so no one else could hear.

"Damn, not you, too," she protested wearily.

He smiled gently. "Easy there ... I just meant because you sighed."

"I did?"

"Yes. And it didn't sound like a meaningless 'Jack's getting on my nerves' sigh, either."

Jen nodded. "Yeah, well. It probably wasn't. But I'm fine."

"Of course she is. We're all fine, aren't we Jackers?" Pacey chimed in cheerfully. "Our only problem, collectively, is that we're hot. Let's remedy that, shall we? Who's with me?" He looked at Joey and nodded toward the sparkling water below.

She shook her head. "Oh no, I don't think so."

"What's the matter, Potter, is the New York businesswoman you've become too good for a dip in the waters of your youth?" He reached down between his dangling legs and scooped up a handful of water. Joey's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say "Don't you dare," but Pacey was faster, and his aim was good. With a squeal, Joey splashed back at him, her face dripping wet.

This exchange ended, inevitably, with both of them jumping off the pier into the water. Jack joined them, sliding slowly from the wooden edge with a profane exclamation about how damn cold the damn creek always was.

Jen glanced over at Dawson. "All right, cut it out."

"Cut what out?"

"Looking at them like an old man who's trying to remember what it's like to be young. In case you've forgotten, you Iare/I young."

"Why do I feel so old then?"

"Because we lived hard as adolescents." She leaned back on her elbows and closed her eyes against the soothing, warm sunlight. "I think we went through more crap in our first eighteen years, as a group, than a lot of people do in their whole existences. That makes it easy to feel old. Plus, you have your own television show. That makes _me_ feel old."

"Look who's talking, mom-to-be."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to puzzle out the mystery of how that happened myself."

"You don't know?"

"Oh, so funny."

Dawson sighed. Out in the water, Jack joined in Joey and Pacey's water fight, and their laughter and shouts added an unmistakable, nostalgic summer quality to the day. "I just ... I miss her, you know?"

"I know."

"And I can't help it. No matter how many years go by and how far removed we are from what happened back then, when I look at them together I'm hit in the gut with all those same old emotions. The resentment toward him, the unrequited love for her. It's like I'm doomed to live the rest of my life caught up in the tumultuous love triangle that was my entire youth."

Jen opened her eyes again and looked at him seriously. "You've got to let it go," she said. When he started to interrupt, she shook her head. "Wait. I'm not saying it's wrong of you to feel that way. You should never have to apologize for emotions because it's not like you can control them. But you can choose not to let them drag you down. Love Joey. Remember the good times with Pacey. Just let go of the bitter stuff." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know it's hard. Believe me. If I can let go of my bitterness toward the guy who knocked me up and then brushed me off like a cheap date, I think you can manage something approaching forgiveness for someone who was once your best friend."

Dawson didn't say anything for awhile. Finally he looked at her. "How did you get to be so wise at such a young age?"

She smiled. "Practice. When your friends are the hopeless tangles of mixed-up baggage that mine are, you pick up some sorting techniques pretty quickly."

A loud, exasperated groan made both of them look up. "Is it too much to ask that we make it through one measly afternoon without any two people in this group feeling it necessary to have a heart-to-heart?" Jack demanded. "Jen and Dawson, you're killing our buzz. Now get in the damn cold water before I come over there and pull you in."

Jen smiled at Dawson. "Shall we?" she asked.

"What the hell?" he said, shrugging, and together they slipped into the damn cold water.


	12. Chapter 12

Time has a funny and perpetually heartrending tendency to speed up when all you want is to savor each moment as it passes you by—when you want to reach out and snag those moments and stick them in your pocket for safekeeping, to store close at hand for the nights when you need to remember a time that you were simply, honestly, purely content. Time, more often than not, fades to a pleasant blur on the happy days, the calm days, the days when the most complex and wonderful people you've ever known come together, physically and otherwise, for the first time in months and the last time in the foreseeable future. Another afternoon had slipped away, another evening had crowded in, effectively (if temporarily) mending ancient hurts and slights and betrayals among them with life's best medicine, laughter.

Jen's thoughts chased one another as she sat silently at their table, the same Icehouse table they had shared the night before last, minus one of their number. Without Andie, the walls or chains or heartstrings or whatever it was that connected them had tightened, moved them as one unit toward the center of a circle that was precious and almost tangible now, under the starry night sky of their childhood home. Thinking of returning to New York herself, or even of letting Joey do it, was somehow alarming, terrible, in this setting.

She could almost resent time's fickle ways in this moment, as she sensed the pleasant blur trying to happen, trying to usher her, blind and protesting, through the warmth and security and satisfaction of this night and on to her inevitable return to New York. What awaited her there were only the cold realities of an empty apartment and fears of inadequacy that she would voice to no one but herself and her unborn child. Even as she fought time she knew it was a hopeless battle.

_"Jen!"_

Three voices at once, a chorus of shouts. She jumped a little, startled out of her reverie, and looked around the table at the curious, smiling faces, all of them focused on her.

"What is it with you lately?" Jack asked amiably. "Is there some link between pregnancy and catatonia that I'm not aware of?"

"Stop it, I'm just thinking." She stirred her water around with her straw, not looking at them, slightly embarrassed by the uncharacteristic sentimentality she was about to spew forth. "I just ... I like this. I like us, together like this. I don't want it to end, you know?"

Pacey gasped. "Do my ears deceive me? Is Jen Lindley going soft on us? Someone, quick, alert the media!"

"Bite me, Witter," Jen muttered, still absentmindedly stirring her water.

"She got that from me, you know," a rather inebriated Joey announced proudly to the table at large.

"Very true, Jo, thanks for letting me borrow that eloquent all-occasions comeback," Jen said indulgently, regaining her firm hold on the sardonic wit that had always been her effective shield.

"Ah, such a Potter classic. You should copyright that, you know." Pacey tipped a wink at Joey, who graced him with one of her special, glowing smiles—the absolutely sincere, emotionally uncluttered ones. Jen thought with a twinge of amusement and a sharper twinge of affection that their dark-eyed, somber, overanalytical Joey always came alive after one or two too many cocktails.

"Unfortunately, it's only relevant when you're around. It would be wasted on anyone else," Joey said. "But don't knock it, Jen; it shuts him up."

"Too bad we don't have any magic words for you, drunk girl," Jack said teasingly, and Joey stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned and turned to look at Jen, reaching for her hand that was obsessively twirling the straw in her glass and squeezing it in his own. "I know what you mean," he said seriously. "I don't want it to end either."

"Me neither," Dawson agreed.

"Nope," Pacey offered.

"Well, then it's unanimous, because I don't either," Joey declared defiantly. Then, her eyes lighting up, "So let's all move back here! Come on, Dawson, Jen, what do you say? We can do this forever. We can stay securely stuck here together for the rest of our natural adult lives."

Dawson smiled at her, a sweet and somehow sad smile. "That would be great," he said.

Jen nodded her agreement. "It would," she said. "You guys can help me raise my child. We'll all live in the same house and practice tag-team parenting. It will be like _Full House_ for the twenty-first century."

"Oh, God, don't wish that on your child!" Dawson laughed.

"Come on, don't you think I'd make a great Uncle Jesse?" Pacey asked. "He was the cool one, right?"

"There wasn't a cool one. There was a doofus and a dork and a weirdo," Joey said wisely, tipping back her glass to drain the rest of the liquid from the bottom.

Wordlessly, Pacey got up and slipped away to the bar to get her a refill. Jen noted this with amusement tinged with pride. Not that she would condone one person's attempt to use liquor to take advantage of another, but in this case, with this particular hard-headed subject ... she was willing to overlook it.

"It'll never happen," Joey said, her exuberance turning on a dime into a sighing proclamation of despair.

Jen bit down on her smile and offered her friend a sympathetic look. "Why's that, Jo?"

"Because Dawson is a big producer in Hollywood, and because I have my stupid job, and you would never move back because you've got New York in your veins." She looked honestly disappointed, and Jen felt a stab of pity for her.

"So what?" she said, in an attempt to lift Joey's spirits again. "So maybe you're right, we won't actually move back here. But we can come back and visit more often, right? We can stop drifting apart and trying so damn hard to forget each other. Right?"

"Hey now," Jack said, shooting a stern look between the girls. "Who's trying to forget each other?"

Jen and Joey exchanged a knowing glance and looked away quickly. Jen offered Jack a sweetly innocent smile. "No one, dear. I'm just trying to help Joey feel better about the fact that we're not going to do the _Full House_ thing."

Pacey returned and set the fresh drink down in front of Joey, who smiled her thanks and immediately began sipping at it. He sat next to her and, very casually, slipped an arm around the back of her chair. "What's this I hear, I don't get to be Uncle Jesse after all?" he asked sadly. "Well damn, just stomp all over my dreams."

"I don't know about you guys, but I relive our past life every day of mine," Dawson said. "I think moving back here would only succeed in hopelessly confusing me."

"D, man, you've got learn to untangle fantasy from reality, now, I've warned you about that," Pacey said, shaking his head in amusement. "And if you call me Petey again, it's on."

"He calls you Petey?" Joey asked.

"Yes, Sam. Sometimes he does."

Joey slapped at Pacey's chest in protest, and he effortlessly caught her hand and brought it to his lips, planting a quick kiss on her palm in a gesture that was painfully sweet and endearing.

Jen cleared her throat and looked around at her friends. "All right, I'm going to the restroom. Don't you dare say anything interesting until I return," she declared.

"I'm going with you!" Joey announced, getting up from her chair and swaying slightly as she tried to find her sea legs. Pacey reached out and held her arm to steady her.

"Jen, can you handle this one on your own, or do you need an escort?" he asked.

Jen smiled and reached out to link her arm through Joey's. "I've got it covered, thanks."

The bathroom was deserted, as the restaurant was set to close in twenty minutes and the dinner crowd had already thinned out considerably. Once inside the ladies' room, Joey flopped heavily down on the black leather bench in front of the bank of mirrors and sinks, and Jen laughed. "So I take it you just came along for the ride?" she said, heading for a stall.

"No, I have to go," Joey said. "I'm just resting."

"Oh. Okay then," Jen said agreeably. "You rest up, Jo."

"Jen?" Joey said when her friend was about to close the door of a stall.

"Yes, Joey?"

"I think I'm drunk."

"I think so too, sweetie."

"Do you think Pacey wants me to be drunk? He keeps bringing me drinks. And I keep drinking them!"

Jen stepped back out of the stall and smiled at the genuinely perplexed look on Joey's face. "I think Pacey wants you to be happy. Is it working? Are you happy?"

"Tonight, yes, very. In general?" She paused. "I don't know."

"Really? You don't know, huh?"

"I mean, I like my job. I like my apartment. It has the best view, Jen, you've got to come over sometime and see the view!"

"Sure, just name the day." Jen waited patiently, dismissing her need to pee in deference to Joey's need to vent.

"But happy ... I'm not sure. Sometimes I think I am. Doesn't that say something? I mean, no one's happy all the time, Jen—are they?"

"You're asking the wrong person that question. I would have to say no, though, if I were forced to guess."

"Well good. Because sometimes I think I am." She slumped lower against the cinderblock wall, her forehead wrinkling with the effort of sorting through her fuzzy thoughts. "Do you think Pacey's happy?"

"I don't know, Jo. But if he's not, I have an idea of what would change that."

"I don't want to hear it."

"You never want to hear it, so I'm going to stop trying to say it. I'll just be content in the knowledge that we both know. We all know."

Joey frowned. "Christopher calls him Percy," she said.

"What?"

"Christopher calls him Percy. And every time he does that, I just want to grab a handful of his hair and yank on it as hard as I can until he changes it to Pacey."

Jen smiled. "How often do you and Christopher discuss Pacey?"

"More than you might think," she admitted. "For some reason, Christopher's always been jealous of him. Something about how my eyes light up when I mention his name, and about how I'm so supportive of Sam and Petey's relationship on _The Creek_. Chris says it makes him nervous."

Jen nodded understandingly and went back into the stall to take care of business. When she came out, Joey was still sitting on the bench, staring down at the tile floor as if it were spelling out a secret message that only she could see. Jen reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Don't you have to go?" she reminded gently.

"Oh," Joey said, nodding. "Oh yeah."

Jen studied her reflection in the mirror critically as her drunk friend made stumbling progress into a stall. There were still dark circles under her eyes that made her look at least five years older than she was. She swiped on some lipstick and smacked her lips together, noting a slight improvement in the result. At least with color in her lips she didn't look quite so sickly. That was good. Jack still persisted in shooting her concerned glances from time to time, and the two of them had been at each other's throats most of the day for the same reason. She was annoyed to no end by seeing her own worries mirrored in his eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to push them away and to enjoy this stretch of time that was fast reaching its end. That's all. She would see to herself, to her body, as soon as life resumed its normal pace. For now her fears and Jack's were irrelevant. They had to be.

"I'm fine," she insisted quietly to her reflection. The reflection stared back at her, a pale-faced, hollow-cheeked denial of those words. _No, you're not,_ it seemed to protest. _And you know it._


	13. Chapter 13

"Ummunghuhmm..."

Jen paused in front of the mirrors as the low, strange moaning sound emanated from behind the closed door of Joey's bathroom stall. "Jo?" she said tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"Ummungh..."

"I'm taking that as a no. Are you sick?"

"Oh God. Jen ... Uhhh."

"Okay, sweetie, can I come in?" She tapped on the door, and it swung open on a very pale-faced Joey. Her dark hair hung in startling contrast to her skin, tousled and falling untidily to her shoulders. She was bracing herself with her hands on the knees of her jeans, looking like every bad night of drinking Jen had ever experienced.

"I'm gonna puke," Joey said sadly. "The room is spinning."

"I think it's you that's spinning," Jen said sympathetically, rubbing her arm. "Go on and puke; you'll feel better."

"Damn Pacey."

Jen couldn't suppress a smile. "Damn Pacey for what? For giving _you,_ a grown woman, some drinks on the house when evidently you can't hold your liquor any better now than you could when we were in high school? Give him a break."

"Stop," Joey said in a strained, wavery voice. "Stop being practical. I feel like shit, and I want to blame him."

"Yeah, well I feel like shit, too, but the man I could conceivably blame is pretty much the last person on the face of the earth I want to think about."

Joey swallowed hard, painfully. "Yeah, well at least you're nauseated for a purpose."

"Drunkenness serves its own purpose. I mean, hey, if you would let yourself cut loose tonight, you might just stop being your own worst enemy and manage to at least patch the holes in two people's lives."

Grimacing against another wave of nausea, Joey shot her friend an irritated look. "What ... what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Jen said innocently. "Look, I'd try to get it out of your system if I were you. I'll go get you a glass of water, okay?"

She nodded, and Jen squeezed her arm comfortingly and left the bathroom. The boys were engrossed in some obviously hysterically funny bit of shared history when she returned to the table. They looked up at her with wide grins still shining on their faces.

"We have a minor casualty," she said. "I need to take her a glass of water."

"Is she okay?" Pacey asked immediately.

"Just a few too many of Pacey's Happy Hour Specials, I think. She'll be fine."

"Bathroom?" he asked, already getting up and heading off in that direction. Jen nodded and watched him hurry away.

"Now _that's_ devotion," she remarked jokingly. "How come I don't get that kind of treatment?"

"Oh, you mean begging you until I'm blue in the face to go to the hospital when you have a fainting spell isn't showing enough concern for your well-being?" Jack said without warning, the sudden edge in his voice making both Jen and Dawson jerk their heads up to look at him and gauge his degree of seriousness. It was obvious he wasn't kidding.

Jen winced. "Jack. My dear. I'm begging you not to start again."

He shrugged. "Fine, but just so you know, the lipstick can't hide everything."

_And here we go._ "Now what the hell does that mean?" she said irritably.

"Forget it."

"No, Jack, I'm not going to forget it. Now I've asked you kindly to mind your own damn business, but you seem to be having trouble complying. What exactly do I have to do?"

"Go to the goddamn doctor! I mean, come on, Jen, today wasn't the first time this has happened; you're passing out left and right, and in case you've forgotten, it's not just yourself you have to worry about anymore."

"That's enough, Jack, you're crossing the line. Get off my back," she snapped, uncharacteristically angry. "I'm not going to tell you again." Glancing at Dawson, who was twisting his napkin in his hands and looking very uncomfortable, she took a deep breath and mumbled, "Joey needs water." Turning her back, she started away with a half-full glass of ice water sweating in her hand; as an afterthought, she spun back toward the table and fixed a steady gaze on Jack. "Oh, and next time you have a heart-to-heart with Grams about the well-being of everyone's favorite headcase, tell her to mind her damn business, too. I don't need you two making things out to be worse than they are."

She reached the bathroom, her heart pounding in time with her head. She opened the swinging door so hard it slammed back against the wall. The sight that greeted her almost made her forget her anger at Jack, and the now-familiar feeling of worry and the strange breed of lightheaded despair that he had stirred up again.

Pacey and Joey were sitting together on the black leather couch just inside the door, the same couch Joey had collapsed onto when the girls had first entered the bathroom earlier. She was slumped over, her hands covering her face, crying into them. _Sobbing,_ actually. Pacey had his arms wrapped tightly around her, his lips pressed into the dark shimmering softness of her hair, holding her as she released emotions that probably were a lot closer to the truth than she would ever admit without the aid and the shield of alcohol. Drunkenness serves its own purpose, Jen had told her. It can patch hearts, it can expose hurts, it can make you or break you or drive you back to the person your heart still belongs to. Watching the two of them, the purpose of this particular instance seemed perfectly clear.

Joey didn't look up from the haven of Pacey's arms when Jen made her noisy entrance. Pacey did. He met Jen's eyes, and in that single look, she saw the unadorned pureness of his feelings for the woman he held, the love that had never for a single moment let him out of its grasp--for Jen had realized long ago that it was love that did the holding. Anyone who thinks it's the other way around, that a person can choose to hang onto or let go of love, that any mere mortal has that capacity, is sadly mistaken. Love does the holding.

She set the water glass down next to the sinks, gave Pacey a solemn wink, which he answered with a grateful smile, and slipped back out of the bathroom.

For a moment she just stood there outside the door, pressing a hand to her lips as she felt her own wave of nausea threaten to come over her. She closed her eyes and waited for it to pass. "Not now, baby, please," she muttered. "Can it wait till the morning? It's been a long day." An eternity of several moments passed, and so did the nausea. She relaxed and walked over to the railing that overlooked the water in the near distance, not wanting to return to their table just yet. The moon glinted off the surface of the black water in pinpoints of brilliance. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered a little.

"Hey there," a voice said from behind her.

"Hi," she responded without turning around.

"Look, Jen ..."

"Don't. Please? I'm going to pack up tonight and head back in the morning. At this rate we're going to keep going until one of us kills the other, and I don't want to end up in jail and pregnant. It's just not classy."

"Jen, shut up a second. I was going to say I'm sorry. I did cross the line, you're right. I shouldn't be pushing you right now. I know you'll do what you need to do."

She turned around and looked up at him, into the clear, forthright eyes of a person she'd spent a good portion of her life loving in heartbreakingly hopeless ways she suspected he would never really understand. And if he, the person who knew her better than anyone in the world, couldn't understand, then maybe the truth wasn't even so important. Maybe he never needed to know that he was the closest she'd ever been in her entire life to fulfillment. Maybe she should try to forget that fact, as well. She let him pull her into an uncomplicated, apologetic hug, and she buried her face in his chest.

The two who kept throwing away their own fulfillment were behind a door scarcely 50 yards away from the embracing best friends, one of them still sobbing her heart out in her hands, the other trying desperately not to be torn apart by polar emotions, knowing that the moment would eventually end no matter how badly he wanted it not to, and that he would be right back where he'd started. They both would.


	14. Chapter 14

"Will you stop packing for a minute and tell me why you want to leave now? I thought you'd forgiven me for being a jerk last night. Come on, Jen." Jack reached for the jeans she was carefully folding as she knelt on the floor of the guest bedroom in front of her open suitcase.

"This isn't about your being a jerk, although that is a truth that can't be denied," Jen said with a smile, pulling the jeans out of her friend's grip and refolding them.

"So what is it? You weren't planning to leave this soon before."

"When I came here, I didn't have a plan. It could have been two days or two years, for all I knew when I left New York."

"Okay, then, let's make it the latter."

Jen paused in her compulsive folding and looked up at him, smiling at the sight of his concerned eyes and earnest face. "Jack, you're very sweet. You make me feel very wanted, and that's nice. I can't even begin to tell you how much better everything seems now that I've spent some time with you and the others. But this isn't real life. Capeside has never been real life for me; it's been my escape. Real life is what's waiting for me back in New York, and I need to go and face it. The longer I hide from it, the worse it's going to be when it catches up with me. And it _will_ catch up with me."

Jack sighed, knowing there was no use arguing with her when she had made up her mind about something. She pulled herself up from the floor and put her arms around him.

"I'll miss you more than anything," she said honestly, squeezing him around the middle.

He squeezed back, gently, mindful of her condition. "Yeah, same here, weirdo," he said reluctantly. When they pulled apart, Jack nodded toward her open suitcase. "Need any help with that?"

"No, I've got it."

"Good. I don't want to help you bail on me anyway." He smiled wistfully and walked out of the room, leaving Jen alone with her thoughts.

She'd had another episode the night before, when they finally returned from the Icehouse. Thank God Jack hadn't witnessed it, because this one had driven her to her knees and come very close to knocking her unconscious. The morning light had erased the details down to a vague dull memory of a pain that had been anything but vague and dull, a ghostly image of her own reflection in the mirror as she clutched the big oak dresser and fought to catch her breath, feeling like she was being stabbed right through the heart.

This one had scared her enough. Enough to send her straight for her suitcase the moment her eyes opened the next morning, enough to propel her blindly toward a return to a city she didn't feel nearly ready to return to yet. Fear is a lonely thing, but she wasn't willing to share it.

What a noble fallacy, she thought, smiling bitterly down at the contents of her luggage. Because, truth be told, she wasn't sparing Jack for the right reasons, not to save him from worrying about her, not for his own sake, at least not completely. Heavier than that, more compelling, was that she couldn't bear to voice her fear, to risk the horrible possibility that sharing it could, instead of easing the burden, actually multiply it.

She was worried enough for herself, for him, for Grams, for the world. Something was terribly wrong with her, and she had never in her life been so afraid.

Someone tapped on the half-open door, and Jen jumped and spun toward it, breaking into a grin when she saw who was there.

"Damn, you scared me!" she said. "Come on in. Help me pack; I'm busting out of this hellhole."

Pacey returned her smile and opened the door the rest of the way, eyeing her suitcase and its contents for a moment. "So it's true?" he asked. "You're leaving us too?"

Jen nodded. "Yeah, it's time," she said. "Joey?"

"She claims she's hitting the road as soon as she sleeps off the bitch of a hangover she's nursing this morning," he said. "Guess whose blood she's after for that one?"

Laughing, Jen said, "Oh, I wouldn't venture a guess."

Settling down on the unmade bed, Pacey took a deep breath. "If you're wondering about what you saw last night, in the bathroom—"

"Wondering? Please. I beg you to enlighten me."

"I think she's going to hold him off on the marriage thing," he said after a moment's thoughtful silence.

"Thank God for small favors. What else?"

"She's confused."

"Joey _Potter_? Surely you jest!"

"I'm worried about her, Jen. She seems so … unhappy. Worse than that, though. She seems lost. I don't know how to say this … Will you … would you mind—" He broke off, searching for the right words.

"You want me to take care of her," Jen offered, smiling at his pensive expression. "Resume my esteemed spot as the Joey watchman of the Northeast?"

He chuckled. "I don't know if I'd say 'take care of her.' That's just a little too Dawson Leery for my taste. Just … make sure she doesn't slip too far away from us."

Jen moved to sit next to Pacey on the bed. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, looking at him seriously. "I wouldn't dream of letting that happen," she told him in a softly confidential tone. "Don't worry."

He smiled. "Easy words, Jen." He glanced over at her, and noticed at this close proximity just how strained and pale she was. His forehead wrinkled in sudden concern. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

Her eyes visibly clouded over as her guard came up. "I'm fine," she said, laughing to show him how silly the question was.

"You look—"

"Tired," she finished for him quickly. "I know. I look tired because I _am_ tired. It's one of the main symptoms of early pregnancy, Pace. I'm exhausted, in fact. Don't let Jack's weird maternal-style worry get to you."

Pacey's brow uncreased, and he chuckled lightly. "Jackers does have a mother-hen quality about him, doesn't he?"

Jen smiled, relieved that Pacey was going to be a much easier sell than Jack. "Now if you'll please be kind enough to carry my suitcase downstairs, we need to gather the troops one last time for a proper farewell."

He frowned, pretending to consider the matter. "If I don't, then you can't leave, right? I mean, heavy lifting is on the no-go list for moms-to-be, isn't it?"

"You don't want to test me, Witter," Jen said sweetly. "I've got a hell of a right hook."

He raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I'll carry your damn suitcase. But let's not call this a farewell, okay? That makes me nervous. Let's call it a 'see ya later.'"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Jen grinned and started downstairs, Pacey in tow with her over-packed suitcase.

They gathered around the front porch of Jack's house to say their goodbyes. The lack of the group's usual lighthearted banter and sarcastic wordplay was a testament to the somberness of the occasion. Pacey, being Pacey, made several valiant attempts to lighten the mood, but the pained glances he kept stealing at the sad-eyed girl next to him revealed his true feelings.

"So does everyone have everyone else's number?" Jack demanded, looking at each of them in turn. "Because I wasn't kidding. I am not going to be the gatekeeper for this little group any longer. So don't even think about calling me for updates on each other."

"Yeah, man, I think we're covered now," Dawson said, smiling at Joey. "And you will be hearing from me more often from now on. This was entirely too long to go without speaking to you."

Joey smiled briefly at him and then her eyes flicked over to Pacey. "Yeah," she said to all of them in general. "I'll try not to be MIA for so long again."

"I'll keep her in the rotation, don't you worry," Jen said, addressing everyone but looking at Pacey.

"Jen, we want frequent updates on you and Little Jen, okay?" Dawson added. "You take care of yourself." He reached over to hug her, and she squeezed him tightly.

"I promise," she said. When the two of them stepped apart, Jack pulled her into his encircling arm and planted a kiss on her temple.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you," he said softly. "So I'll be checking up much more often than you probably want to hear from me."

She smiled. "I know you will," she said. "But I'll let it slide."

Hugs all around and promises to keep in touch, and then Joey and Jen were climbing into their respective cars and preparing to leave. Jen fought the tightness that had settled around her chest; this time not from any medical condition, but from simple sadness. Knowing how much she would miss them hurt; knowing that she was returning to loneliness and pieces of a failed relationship she hadn't yet had a chance to lay to rest was worse.

Jack gathered her into one final hug, and she laughed even as tears sprang up into her eyes. "I think you're overreacting a little, McPhee," she said, muffled against his chest. "I'm going to see you again. You're going to be my birthing coach, remember?"

"Of course," he said, stepping back to look at her. He gently wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. "Please be careful," he said. "Call me when you get there. Call me when you … just call me. Okay?"

"You know it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Enough of this mushy stuff. Joey and I have a long drive ahead of us."

She looked past Jack at Dawson and Pacey, whose gazes were both fixed on Joey as she paused with her hand on the driver's side door of her rental car. It seemed that no one knew how to end this, and no one wanted to. Better to just go.

"Bye boys," Jen called out. "Take care of each other. Dawson, don't let Hollywood eat you."

"Never," he returned. "See ya, Jen."

She turned back to her best friend who was standing in front of her with a troubled look in his eyes. "I love you, Jack," she said softly.

"Love you too, kiddo," he said. "Drive safe, both of you."

Jen made the break first. She got in and started away with a smile on her face and a weight in her heart. Leaving had never been her forte. She didn't even look back as she turned onto the road, not knowing if Joey had managed to tear herself away yet, thinking that it might be better for all concerned if she hadn't.


	15. Chapter 15

"_I loved you."_

In a note that rambled on for two and a half carefully scrawled pages, those words toward the bottom of the last piece of paper were the ones that stood out the most clearly, carrying more weight than all the other tongue-tripping niceties put together. _I loved you._ The statement was simple, the implication strange at best, the sentiment bullshit. She could see him sitting uncomfortably at her computer desk, all his belongings that had found their way to her apartment gathered at his feet as he scribbled this note full of eloquent and arrogant attempts to absolve himself of responsibility.

He probably thought he had succeeded, but in reality she had absolved him. If he wanted to wear his badge of nobility and live out his life thinking he had "done the right thing," then so be it. But she in turn would go to her grave knowing it was a lie, and not really caring, when you got right down to it. David Marshall — his significance, his hold over her, his very existence short of the role he'd played in the life that now grew inside her — had somehow waned while she had been gone, ensconced among people who _did_ matter. And he had left her with the one part of himself that was worth all her trouble.

She missed them already, terribly. It seemed that driving out of town the way she had, too fast and too determinedly, drowning out her heart's protests by blaring the radio and singing along at the top of her lungs until her throat was sore, had only postponed the invasion of the razor-edged hollow that goodbyes often leave behind. Now, alone in her suddenly less-cluttered apartment with this letter clutched in her hand, all she could do was miss them.

"Congratulate me; I'm officially shut of him," she told Jack when she called to tell him she had made it home safely. "If I could drink, I'd crack open a bottle of champagne to celebrate this momentous occasion."

"Right. How are you really?" he asked, immediately seeing through her bravado.

"Don't you get all psychoanalytical on me, Jack McPhee," she said warningly. "I am perfectly happy to declare my apartment officially boy-free. No more falling in the toilet in the middle of the night because you jerks can't remember simple anatomical differences when it matters."

"Hey, don't group me in with those guys," he said. "You and Grams broke me of that habit years ago."

"Of course." After a slight pause, she said, "He left me a note. Did you know people actually do that outside of bad movies?"

"No way. You're kidding."

"I wish I was kidding. Answer me this, Jack. In your entire life, and in your myriad tangle of relationships, have you _ever_ been tempted to tell someone 'I loved you'?"

"Loved?"

"Loved. That's right, 'e-d.' If that's not one to take to the shrink, I don't know what is."

"For what it's worth, Jen, I'm glad he's gone. You deserve so much more. You deserve everything."

She laughed lightly. "Well, apparently the challenges of single motherhood are included in this everything of which you speak."

"I'm here," he said firmly. "Don't you forget that."

"Never."

After they hung up, the apartment seemed even emptier. She kept her hand on the receiver for a long time, fighting the urge to pick up the phone and call him back.

Beginning as far back as childhood, Jen had developed and honed an enviable ability to adapt to whatever unpleasantness life threw her way. The following months — filled as they were with emotions running the gamut from elation to despair, from excitement over something as pointed as feeling her baby move for the first time to a vague, generalized terror of what lay ahead — passed relentlessly. Minutes, hours, and days moved slowly but weeks flew by, as if time itself were an illusion that adjusted its speed depending on how closely she scrutinized it.

The idea that soon she would no longer be pregnant and would instead be a _mother_ was still a foggy notion she harbored at the back of her mind. She supposed when her psyche was ready to deal with such implications, it would allow her to contemplate this inevitability for longer than a few moments without thrusting her into a state of earth-shaking vertigo. What qualified her, of all people, to be a mother? Certainly nothing she had learned from her own, who had been so blind to her daughter's needs that instead of trying to help her fifteen-year-old figure out a way to stop her premature downward spiral, she had sent her away to spare herself from watching it happen.

"You're probably more qualified than most people _because_ of where your mom went wrong, Jen," Joey assured her one night over dinner at a restaurant near Jen's apartment. This was in her seventh month, and in the midst of a particularly severe patch of self-doubt. "You learned from her mistakes. You'll never send your kid to live with someone else just because she makes a few bad choices."

"Oh God, Joey, do you think my kid is going to turn out just like me?" Jen asked in a dramatic whisper, her eyes widening in alarm over the top of her tea glass as this new worry struck. "Because I don't think I can deal with that! I mean, I couldn't even fix _myself._"

Joey smiled indulgently at her friend. "Will you stop? Look at yourself. You did fix it, and you came out stronger for the struggle. You're making yourself crazy. You're making _me_ crazy."

"Well, I guess it's contagious, because Jack told me the same thing the other day."

Joey laughed. "Speaking of … how is Jack?"

Jen frowned, stirring her tea around with her straw distractedly. "I'm not allowed to tell you that; you know the rules. Call him yourself. But by the same token, have you talked to Pacey?"

A shadow passed over Joey's eyes, and Jen almost regretted the question that had escaped her lips before she knew what she was saying. "Nice new way to avoid the topic of your impending motherhood. And no, not since we were there," Joey admitted reluctantly.

"Okay, so, why?"

"I don't know. I've been busy, I'm sure he's been busy."

"Really. Both of you are too busy to pick up the phone?"

"You are relentless," Joey said. "I'll be glad when this baby is born and we have our sweet, mild-mannered Jen back."

"I'm sorry, do I know you? I'm Jen Lindley."

"Very funny. Pacey can call me just as easily as I can call him."

"Except that you're in a relationship and Pacey isn't. At least as far as we know."

"What?" Joey looked up, her eyes registering surprise at that last. "He's not, is he?"

"Why would you care?"

"Jen!"

"I haven't talked to him in awhile either. But I'm quite sure Jack would have mentioned it. My point is, he's at a disadvantage here, not knowing if it's all right to call you, not knowing if Christopher is going to pick up the phone if he does. It's up to you, Jo."

"Are you ever going to give up on getting Pacey and me back together?"

Jen took a long sip of her tea and fixed her gaze on Joey's. "No."

Jen and Joey had spent more time together since their return from Capeside, and the topics that before had been taboo were now mutually acceptable, even encouraged. Wednesday nights were set aside to gather at Jen's and watch their old friend's reenactment (or massacre, depending upon who you asked and what their on-screen counterparts were up to at the time) of their history. The attempt to bury that past under camouflaging piles of the present had, for the time being, at least, been halted. It had never been very successful to begin with. And the closer Jen got to the turning point in her life that was circled in red marker on every calendar she owned, the less she understood what her motivations had been for wanting to forget the place and the people who had essentially made her who she was today.

She felt better, stronger as the days ticked by and the baby grew. Sometimes she was sure she could handle anything life threw at her, as she always had. On those days she was happy, secure in the knowledge that her future was a little more definitive than it had ever been before. And in the places where it wasn't so clear, she felt confident in her ability to face whatever lay in wait for her.

During these days of preparation and anticipation and ambiguity, Jen had no real concept of the brevity of time before her. And that, in itself, was a blessing.


	16. Chapter 16

"Jack, I've been thinking. I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

Jack looked up from the hospital recliner he had been about to doze off in and stared uncomprehendingly at his friend. "What are you talking about?"

"This. Having a baby. _Me,_ having a baby. I think that completing this little transaction will turn out to be a cosmic mistake with far-reaching consequences for all concerned. So I think I'll just stay pregnant instead."

Jack let out a soft chuckle, which he quickly masked with a suspiciously convenient cough.

Jen's eyes flashed at him. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No! What? No!"

"Because it's not funny. The fact that I am about to give birth to an actual human being who will depend solely upon me for survival is not a funny concept, Jack. It's terrifying."

"I know it's not funny. Look, Jen, you're just getting cold feet. I'm sure it's normal when you're about to become a mother."

"Cold feet are normal when you're getting married. I'm not getting married. In fact, I can't forsee any conceivable turn of events in the near or distant future that would possibly result in my getting married." She paused and frowned at him. "Why in the hell are we talking about marriage?"

"Calm down, you're babbling."

"I'm in labor. I'm entitled to babble."

Jack nodded agreeably. He watched her for a few moments in silence, her blonde hair tousled, her lips pressed tightly together, her face adopting that set, pensive expression he knew too well. He wanted to say something comforting but couldn't think of anything that hadn't been said already. Or anything that didn't have the potential to make her mad. He'd learned hours before that a woman in labor can take even the most innocuous statement as a vile attack on her and everything she holds dear. The epidural (thank God for the epidural!) had eased her contractions along with her temperament, but he was still handling her as cautiously as he would a snake that might or might not be poisonous.

He glanced swiftly at the clock above Jen's head. It was nearing two in the morning. They'd been here since about seven, when Jen's water had broken over a shared dinner of pepperoni pizza and a terrible horror movie on TV. Jack spared a moment to wonder if those kids had made it out of the house without a run-in with the masked machete man, and then rejected the idea of asking Jen for input on that subject.

On his last check-in, the doctor had told them there was still a long road ahead, and that they should try to get some rest while they could. The waiting was growing tiresome—not that he would dare voice anything of the kind to her, not in a million years. But he was nervous for her, as nervous as she seemed to be for herself and her baby.

Earlier, when examining Jen's chart, the nurse had frowned and asked Jen when she had taken her last dose of some drug Jack couldn't recall the name of. Jen had glanced over at Jack before answering, and there was something in the look, slight as it had been, that made him take note of an exchange he might otherwise have overlooked. When the nurse left, he asked about it, and Jen had mumbled something about vitamins. And then she had launched into some totally unrelated topic. A fairly smooth transition, perhaps, but the whole scenario stuck under Jack's skin like a small, irritating splinter.

"Don't you think we should call Grams and your mom?" Jack asked for the fiftieth time that night.

"No," Jen said, also for the fiftieth time. "We'll call them when it's necessary. Right now there's nothing they could do but sit around and wait with us."

"Are you and Grams okay?"

"What? Yeah, why?"

"I don't know, you've been acting strange when her name comes up lately."

Jen sighed. "She just … She worries too much. And I don't need that right now, okay? The only person I do need right now is already here, so let's stop trying to bring in other people to crash our party."

Jack frowned. "I've never known Grams to be much of a worrier. Unless there's valid cause for it."

"Oh my God, McPhee, will you drop it?" Jen managed a laugh, but it carried a dangerous edge that was not lost on Jack. "Suspicion isn't flattering on you."

He swallowed and reached out to hold her hand. "I'm sorry, you're right. I just don't want her to miss the birth of her great-grandchild. I know she'd want to be here."

"Later," Jen said, relaxing visibly as Jack backed down.

Jen shifted uncomfortably as the pressure of another contraction—a blessedly muted one, thanks to the nifty little tube that had taken up residence in her back—squeezed at her middle. She glanced through the dimness toward Jack, dozing awkwardly in the vinyl hospital-issue reclining chair next to her bed, a dark silhouette against a bank of windows overlooking the city.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. He looked so young, so vulnerable, with his lips parted slightly in sleep and his dark hair rumpled from hours worth of running restless fingers through it the way he did when he was nervous or distracted. She had a sudden, irresistible urge to touch him. Reaching between the guard rails of the bed, she gently grasped his index finger with her hand. He didn't open his eyes.

She felt guilty but resolute about the things she was keeping from him. Guilty because she knew that he could sense something and that it worried him, but resolute because sharing the truth would have done nothing but burden him with the more concrete worry she and Grams and even her mom harbored every day. Jen's "condition," as it had come to be enigmatically referred to (at least when she failed at her tenacious attempts to avoid the topic altogether), had been, over the months of her pregnancy, like the unyielding blossom of a poisonous vine. Blooming and fading, blooming and fading at increasingly regular intervals, one day it bloomed too brilliantly to be ignored any longer. Her stay at this very hospital as they monitored and tested and diagnosed her was recent enough and terrifying enough to haunt her now, even under the vastly differing circumstances of this visit.

But there was no longer any need to worry, regardless of Grams' perpetual insistence (nagging) that she wasn't taking proper care of herself, that she was doing too much, putting too much strain on her already weakened and stressed body. There was no need to worry. The medication was working, a veritable wonder drug, and her doctor's proclamation of "You're young, you're otherwise healthy—the odds are very much in your favor" still held some power to quiet the nagging voice in her head that whispered darker truths.

And now was not the time to dwell on possibilities. She felt the pressure of another contraction and closed her eyes, pressing her hands firmly against the swell of taut flesh until it finally passed. Now was a time to look ahead to the future, a future that would be full and fulfilled by the child currently making her slow but determined way into the world. Despite all the fears, the ever-present insecurities about her ability to be someone's mother, Jen felt stirrings of true happiness at the anticipation of this life change. And there was no one better to share it with than the person sleeping next to her, the man who had filled a void in her heart long ago and taught her in his gentle way what friendship—no, what _family_—was about.

"This baby is going to worship you," she whispered so softly that the words were almost lost in the undercurrent of ambiant noise around them. "You'll be everything to her that you are to me, and more." Inexplicably, stinging tears flooded her eyes, and her whisper faltered on the next words. "She'll love you as much as I do."

In his sleep, Jack shifted slightly, his hand unconsciously twisting free from her grasp on his finger and maneuvering to take her whole hand into its warmth. They remained like that for a long time, the two old friends, holding hands between the bars of the bed.

Jack practically jumped up from his chair when the nurse came in to do another check.

"What's wrong?" he demanded groggily, looking from Jen to the nurse with an expression close to panic clouding his features.

Jen smiled. "Not a thing, champ. Peggy's just checking to see if I'm going to give birth this year." She glanced at the tall, pleasant-faced woman at the foot of the bed. "So, what's the prognosis?"

Peggy shook her head and offered Jen a sympathetic look. "You're still at three," she said. "And the baby's head is still really high. There's been no progress the last few hours."

"Damn," Jen muttered.

"Jennifer, I'm going to track down Dr. Hudson and give him an update. I'll be back to let you know what he says, all right? Are you still comfortable?"

Jen rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, never been better." When Peggy had gone, she turned toward Jack. "This sucks," she said quietly. "Do you think something's wrong?"

"No, of course not," he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. "Can't labor take days for some women?"

Jen managed a smile at his pitiful attempt to be helpful. "Not this day and age," she said. "Now they just pump you full of Pitocin, suck the baby out, and call it a day. Or they just go in through the middle." She winced. "Which is beginning to sound like a viable alternative to all the waiting and worrying."

"Will you let me call Grams now?" Jack asked, without much hope this time. "She was a nurse, she'll be able to ease your mind at the very least."

Surprisingly, Jen paused to think about the offer. Then she shook her head. "No, let's wait and see what Hudson says."

An hour later, they had their answer. Hudson recommended a cesarean section as soon as possible. They had been monitoring the baby and discovered that with every contraction Jen had, there was a significant dip in the baby's heart rate. That, combined with the lack of progress the last few hours, and the decision was made. As they waited still longer for an operating room to be prepped, Jen reached over to Jack, whose eyes looked dark in his strained, pale face.

"Okay, call her," she said in a falsely unconcerned voice. In the pit of her stomach, a small knot of fear was growing. She tried to block the thoughts that came unbidden, the question of what kind of effect this surgical procedure might have on her "condition," but she wondered just the same. And if anything happened, she wanted Grams and Jack both nearby.


	17. Chapter 17

There are moments in life when reality becomes sharper, colors saturated, the air almost palpable, when every second ticking by is heavy with significance. During these brief, breathtaking interludes, a slice of time in all its vibrant glory blazes its way toward the status of memory, even as you drink in each moment's passage. And you know that no matter how many times over how many years you take this memory out and examine it, relive it, dog-eared pages and fingerprints and all, its perfect clarity will never fade or dull because of the sheer brilliance in which it originally transpired.

Jen experienced this phenomenon as she lay in the operating room amid a flurry of activity meant to culminate in the most momentous event of her life. She was strangely calm, her thoughts slow and rational and deliberate, as if every day found her lying on her back with tubes and hands infiltrating her body, as she drew closer to a line that would forever separate the person she was now with who she would be when this was all over. Her gaze was fixed on Jack's face, upside down, taking in his set jaw, his pallor in the harsh overhead fluorescents, the birthmark on his cheek, every feature so familiar and so soothing in its familiarity that it almost made her want to reach out and comfort _him_. His eyes were focused on a spot Jen couldn't see over the paper sheet stretched mercifully in front of her face to block her view. She guessed it would take a hardier soul than she to watch someone slice their abdomen open like a freshly caught trout. The graphic thought prodded the ball of nausea that had settled uneasily on her chest, and she had to close her eyes and swallow hard to ride over the trembling green wave.

Grams was waiting right outside the room, per hospital regulations that allowed only one person to stay with the mother-to-be. She had arrived so soon after Jack's phone call that it seemed she must have been on standby in the lobby, just waiting for the news. Grandmother's intuition, perhaps. Jen's mother wasn't there. She had gone on a ski trip with two of her fellow middle-aged divorcée girlfriends three days before and wasn't due to return until the following Friday. This had slipped Jen's mind, but, she supposed, it didn't really matter. Jack was here, looking nervous enough to rid his stomach of the Snickers bar and Dr Pepper he'd scarfed down a few hours earlier—but here just the same. Grams was there, trying distractedly to work on her knitting project in the hallway, just a few yards of cold empty hospital space away.

And the baby Jen had been anticipating with equal measures apprehension and eagerness, dizzying self-doubt and childish hope, dread and reverance—the baby who might have David's eyes but who would never see them mirrored in his or her own—was coming.

_David_. Jen had seldom thought of the little one inside her without at least a fleeting flash of his face, or a fragment of memory from when things were good. _Not good,_ she amended—_passably complacent_. Because when she was brutally honest, she knew things had never been good with him. In fact, Joey and Pacey, who had each spent years building walls against one another, were much closer to good in their bad moments, in their bickering, in the heavily laced and transparent distance of their encounters, than Jen had ever been with David. Or with anyone else, for that matter. She supposed that meant that what they had was real. She'd never experienced real.

Jack brushed a wisp of hair off her damp forehead and gave her a valiant—if visibly shaky—smile, and again she amended her thoughts. _This_ is real, she thought, looking up at her best friend. Platonic, yes, but no less real for that—and perhaps, in the end, even better for its shortage of pain. She had watched Pacey watching Joey across the room when they'd had their reunion in Capeside, and seen the traces of pain that had etched themselves into him over years of pining for her. She had seen iron-willed Joey Potter dissolve sobbing into his arms in a public restroom. Real and painful went hand in hand. Maybe Jen was lucky to have been spared.

She could feel pressure beyond the sheet, pressure intense enough to make her suck in her breath and bite down on her bottom lip. Her heartbeat quickened, and the nausea rose again. This process of cutting and tugging and lifting and invading was going to finish making her a mother. These faceless strangers behind their blue masks were going to end something that had begun in a tangle of bedsheets with a man who should have loved her, who in a perfect world would have loved them both. They would fish out the child she had nurtured in her womb and would nurture in a world too harsh for one so small and innocent, they would suction her lungs free of the fluid that had sustained her and hand the baby, weak and struggling, bloody and naked and frightened, to Jen, for life. _For life._

She didn't realize she was crying until Jack wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear, and whispered, "It's almost over, Jen, just hang on a little bit longer."

She offered him a watery smile as more tears fell. "No, Jack," she said in a voice so faint he had to strain to hear. "It's not almost over. It's just beginning."

Moments later, something heavy constricted her chest, squeezing her lungs free of air. Jen fought panic. The doctor beyond the sheet was speaking to her, telling her everything was fine, the baby was almost out … the room swam into a nighmarish blur of color and light and motion. Seasickness. She flashed on an old memory, huddled wet and terrified in the shelter of Pacey's boat cabin in a terrible storm that could have killed them both, but didn't … _"I have a regret. I regret that I've never been in love…" _

"No," she said, but her protest was lost in the din of activity. Jack's face floated above her, ethereal, disembodied, heedless of her struggle to catch her breath.

"It's okay if you're feeling pressure, Jennifer," an unfamiliar, echoing voice said. "Just breathe through it; we're almost there."

_Easy for you to say, lady; you're not the one who's suffocating,_ her mind snapped, regaining a bit of fire in spite of her private struggle that continued to go unnoticed. It seemed neverending, until…

"Miss Lindley, we have a beautiful little girl here."

The voice, still faraway and hollow, reached her ears, and suddenly Jen was able to take a shallow breath. She lifted her head up, straining in spite of the sheet in front of her to catch a glimpse of her daughter. "A girl?" she repeated breathlessly, looking over at Jack for confirmation.

He was beaming, his eyes glistening as he gazed raptly at something outside Jen's line of vision. "Oh, Jen," he said, laughing shakily as he wiped his eyes with his hand. "Jen, she's gorgeous."

A piercing cry sliced through the room, warbling slightly at first, then clearing as someone suctioned the baby's mouth.

"I want to see her. Can I see her?" Jen asked, oblivious to the tears that were coursing down her cheeks and to her sudden, inexplicable ability to breathe easily. "Is—is she okay?"

"She's just fine," a nurse said, approaching with a wrapped bundle in her arms. She handed the baby to Jack, whose expression of awe intensified until it was almost comical. "Here you go, Daddy. Show this little beauty to her Mommy," the nurse said, smiling. Neither Jen nor Jack felt any urge or need to correct her assumption. For some reason, it didn't seem wrong.

Jack shifted the baby in his arms as if he were handling an infinitely delicate explosive, and managed the maneuver well enough for Jen to get a good look at her. And for Jen, time stopped as she laid eyes upon this precious gift created from something that fell short of love. The how stopped mattering in that instant, if it ever really had. The existence of this child was quite enough to fill in the holes David and everyone else in her life who'd ever hurt her had left. Jen saw herself in the baby's half-closed, bewildered blue eyes and knew that no matter what road she had taken to get here, this was the culmination of everything she had been through.

"_I have a regret. I regret that I've never been in love…"_ In an instant, this statement from the past no longer held true.

"Oh yeah," she said. "This is real."


	18. Chapter 18

It sometimes seemed to Jen that life was an endless series of goodbyes; that the good and peaceful and happy experiences in between were simply pleasant ways to bide your time until someone else had to go. Her first week home with Amy, surrounded by her family of friends, had been a blur of laughter and tears, emotion-laden glances across the room and reminiscences shared freely among them. They smothered Jen with their shows of support, and she loved them even more for it. She never wanted it to end, this Capeside-in-New-York phenomenon. But Los Angeles awaited, and there were book manuscripts to read, and a restaurant to run … and students to teach.

_He isn't a natural,_ she thought as she stood unnoticed in the nursery doorway and watched Jack with Amy. He's too timid, still, clinging to that age-old claim held by all tough men who fear tiny babies, that he might break her. He puts diapers on backward and forgets to burp her halfway through meals, he panics when she cries, dresses her with clumsy fingers and holds her with all the nervous care one would afford a delicate explosive. No, not a natural—something much, much better was her Jack. The awe with which he regarded Jen's daughter touched her deeply, painfully, and she found herself having to tear her gaze away from the scene on several occasions. It was too easy to build an impossible fantasy on that show of love, a fantasy with white picket fences and beach vacations and quality time between a little girl with blonde curls and a father who would not turn on her the first time she disappointed him. A fantasy rooted in normalcy—as if such a thing existed. So Jen chose to look away instead of entertaining such tempting notions.

But now, standing in the doorway in the early hours of the day he was leaving and watching him watching Amy, she took a few moments to memorize the picture: Jack, rumpled from sleep, sitting in the rocking chair with the baby held awkwardly, stiffly—and _securely_—in the crook of his arm. His eyes were locked on her tiny face, and that expression of amazement softened his features, a look that said _That's it—you got me, little girl. I'm yours._

"She's all you, you know."

Jen jumped and put a hand to her heart. "Don't do that!" she scolded. "I didn't know you knew I was—"

"Spying?" he finished, his gaze not leaving Amy's face. "You're not as stealthy as you think."

"I'll have to work on that," Jen said absently, drifting into the room and leaning over Jack's shoulder to look at her sleeping child. "You think?"

"Oh please. Look at this face. It's an exact replica."

"She's prettier than I ever was."

"So you're gorgeous, and she's ethereally gorgeous. It's all about evolution."

Jen smirked a little. "She's going to have his eyes. They're so blue."

Jack frowned at the rare reference to the unnamed "him." "Don't all newborns have blue eyes?"

"Most. But hers won't change, believe me. He gave her his best feature. Maybe that'll make up for all he can't give her."

Jack shifted slightly to look up at his friend, and his tone was firm, serious. "She'll never need anything from him, Jen. I promise you that. She will never need him."

Jen squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "I know."

Silence stretched out between them as they watched Amy sleeping. The weight of his imminent departure hung heavy on both of them. Finally Jack spoke again. "I could call the school; see if I can get the sub to stay on a few more days."

Jen shook her head. "Absolutely not. You've got to get back. To work, to Doug … to your life. We'll be fine."

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Always," Jen teased. "Never seems to work."

"You'd have to do a lot more than be perpetually bitchy to get rid of me for good, you know. But kudos on the attempt."

"Language, McPhee."

"She's asleep. Besides, she'll figure out her mom has a bitchy side one day."

"You're incorrigible." Jen kissed the top of Jack's head and straightened up. "I'm going to make breakfast for the troops. Dawson's coming by before he heads to the airport, and Joey said she'll stop in to say goodbye to him."

"Pacey?"

"He's still sacked out on the living room floor. I think I'll trip over him on my way to the kitchen; maybe he'll help with breakfast."

"He's the chef."

She started out of the room, but he stopped her with the question she had come to detest. "Are you feeling okay?"

She put a hand to the incision site on her abdomen. It was healing nicely, but still somewhat tender, and she hoped like hell that was what he was talking about. "Couldn't be better," she lied brightly. "Modern medicine—they gut you like a fish and sew you up good as new."

"Jen? I've got to ask you about something." He didn't turn to face her, and she could tell he was trying very hard to sound casual and curious. But she also knew what was coming, and so she heard the accusation that he was struggling to keep from his voice. "You and Grams, the other day … what was that about? And before you tell me it's none of my business, I want you to remember who you're talking to, and remember that if something upsets you it _is_ my business. I know this was something pretty serious. I've never seen Grams that worked up over anything."

Jen closed her eyes. Damn, this was what she had been dreading. The fight in Grams' living room was still fresh and caustic in her mind, and she had known Jack would ask about it but hoped that he might let it go. He'd walked in at the crescendo of the confrontation, complete with shouting and tears and terrifying implications.

"What is it going to take for you to leave me alone about this? It's my life, I am an adult, and I will handle it my way!"

"_How, Jennifer? Because forgive me for noticing that you're not doing a very good job of it. The pressure you're putting on yourself, the help you won't accept, the doctor's orders you ignore… Think of Amy, she needs you to be—" _

"_Don't you _dare _bring her into this! It has nothing to do with her!"_

"_But it does. You're her mother; she needs you to be strong, healthy. How can you care for her when you won't even care for yourself?" _

"_I'm fine!" _

"_You're not. Telling yourself that you are is only prolonging the problem. I refuse to sit by any longer and pretend, as you continue to do, that this is going to just blow over without incident. You are in denial, Jennifer, and you're not doing yourself or Amy or anyone who cares about you any favors by refusing to acknowledge the truth. You need help. You and Amy will come here to live. There will be no further discussion." _

"_Please don't do this. Grams, I'm asking you—no, I'm begging you—not to give me an ultimatum. You know what will come of that."_

Two pairs of eyes, both steely in their resolve, fixed on one another across the room, challenging, neither willing to give in. And that's when Jack had cleared his throat from the doorway, and they had torn their gazes away to look at him, standing there in confused, questioning alarm.

"_What the hell is going on?"_

"_Perhaps Jennifer can tell you. Maybe you can get through to her; God knows I've never been able to. Excuse me."_

Her final words trembled, and then she had walked past Jen out of the room and left the two friends standing there staring at each other. Jack had opened his mouth to elicit some explanation, but Jen held up her hands in a pleading gesture, effectively cutting him off. And then she covered her face and began to cry in earnest, and he moved to hold her, and any light she might have shone on the situation was lost in a torrent of tears.

"It wasn't as bad as it looked," Jen began now, weakly. "Just, you know, family baggage. She—she's not sure I'm able to raise a baby on my own. Old-fashioned of her, if you ask me, and not a little offensive. I mean, I thought we'd managed to bring her up to speed on the way things work these days, you know, and then she goes and—"

"Jen."

"What?"

"You're lying. If you're not going to tell me, fine, don't tell me. But at least respect our friendship enough not to lie to me."

"I'm sorry." She didn't have the energy to protest.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Jack, I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, Jen. But—"

"You're leaving today, and I'm going to miss the hell out of you, and if we talk about this we're going to argue, and it will make me extremely cranky if we have to end our time together on a bad note. So I'm asking you to drop it."

"And if I know what's good for me, I will?"

"Something like that."

He hesitated, considering. He knew her too well, so he finally settled. "Tell me you're all right."

The silence that elapsed before her answer was brief, but Jen thought he probably understood more in that short pause than he had when he witnessed the blow-up in Grams' living room. "I'm all right," she said softly. "Now I'm going to go con Pacey into making us a farewell breakfast. Can you put the princess back in her bassinet when you join us?"

She didn't wait for a response, which was okay because he wasn't going to offer one. He looked down at Amy, at Jen's features miraculously imposed onto the angelic little face, and decided not to pursue answers he might not want to know.


	19. Chapter 19

Language fails at the most inopportune moments, in those times when words could serve as some cushion against the horrors behind them, when, with their subjective connotations and reliable definitions, or even just by striking the right cadence, they could distract the listener from being forced to comprehend the unthinkable. Language fails, for instance, when you're telling a loved one that you're going to die, and there's no comforting _but_ at the end, no _maybe,_ no _if_ … only death.

Weaving words had always been Jen's strong suit. She could talk herself out of any given situation, talk circles around her audience until they were so mesmerized by her speech that they completely lost sight of the underlying point but were charmed in spite of themselves. Language was her constant. What are you supposed to do when the one thing that's never failed you—does?

Grams sat across from Jen clutching her teacup, the china rattling delicately on its saucer, her lips pursed into a thin unreadable line. Watching her grandmother grasp for the inner peace that was _her_ strong suit, Jen wondered if that's when you just give up. When you lose your constant. When words refuse to flow easily from your tongue and fill the yawning gaps that threaten to swallow everything in the room. Or when you desperately reach for a God you've depended on your entire life, and come up empty-handed.

It could have been worse, of course. There was no wailing or gnashing of teeth, no hand-wringing or overwrought melodrama that might have pushed Jen across the dividing line that had become her life, into a world of shadows, and heartache, and _fearfearfear_. Here, in this room, there was just that thin chattering of china on china, and beneath it a weighty silence that spoke more than Jen had managed with the halting jumble of words that had passed as her confession.

After an eternity, time renewed its steady pace. Grams set her teacup oh so confidently down on the edge of the coffee table, reached for Jen's hands -- youth's soft skin so vulnerable -- and caught her granddaughter's helpless gaze.

Her tone was commanding, resolute despite the separate truth her eyes hinted at. "It is not over, Jennifer."

Words wouldn't work their magic here, Jen knew, so instead of trying to force them to cooperate, she simply squeezed the rough but tender hands that encased her own, reached for an encouraging smile, and found one.

"I'm telling you, Jen, it's over."

Her lips quirked as she shifted Amy to her other arm so the baby couldn't grab the phone out of her hand. "Lay it on me, Jackers," she said. "What has your own personal representative of Capeside's finest done now?"

"Are you scoffing?"

Jen's smile widened. "That depends. Did you just use the word 'scoffing' in an actual conversation?"

"Well don't. Scoff. This is serious."

"I know it is. Of course it is. What going on with Dougie?"

"Nothing. _Nothing._ That's what."

"Oh. Still?"

"He's turning me into a pariah."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"No. I'm a pariah. And I'm not going to take it. I need more than this; I need to be with someone who isn't afraid to be with me. I … I'm breaking it off."

Jen sighed, conjured her serious tone. "How long are you going to let this go on, Jack?"

"What?" Jack asked, alarmed. "You really think I should break it off?"

"I wish you were here so I could smack you."

"I'm not following."

"Then listen to yourself. You're so very much in love with this man, Jack, it's practically oozing from your pores. And yet every time I talk to you, it's 'I need more,' 'He's ashamed to be with me,' 'We're going to have to build an extra closet to make room for his issues.' _You_ need to figure out what's going to happen, my friend. It's not up to Doug anymore. If he won't make a decision, you're going to have to make one for him."

"An ultimatum? I thought you were opposed to those."

"Depends on the situation."

"And what makes this an ultimatum-friendly situation?"

Jen smiled slightly, nuzzling her cheek against Amy's silky-soft chubby one. "Time constraints."

"What? What does that mean?"

"Only that life's too short for you to waste time in a stagnant relationship, Jack. So, you find one that lets you grow, or you take the path of self-absorption and enjoy the silence. You don't do both."

"How's that solitude working out for you?"

"Just fine, thanks. And before you push the issue further and start inquiring about my lack of a sex life, I'm going to hang up on you and get this child to bed. I want her to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for her Uncle Jacky tomorrow."

"I can't wait to see her."

"Hm. Just her?"

"No, of course not -- Grams too."

"Ah, yes. Grams. Coolest senior citizen this side of the Mississippi. Night, Jack."

"Good night. Kiss my girl for me. And drive safe tomorrow."

"Tsk, tsk, English teacher. That's _safely_."

Jen stared contemplatively at the phone after setting it back on the charger. The thought of returning – once more – to Capeside stirred so many feelings in her. No matter how many times she left, or how many times she returned, there was that dizzying mix of emotions. This time it seemed heavier, stronger, stranger, and she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to see them. Would they look at her and _know_, somehow, the way she could look at Pacey and see his unfettered devotion to their dark-haired beauty plain as day -- or at Dawson, and see same? Would Joey have a flash of insight about the real reason Jen had been finding excuse after excuse to avoid her? Would Jack figure it out before she was ready to tell him, and would he be able to forgive her for all the lies and secrets?

"Would you like me to put Amy to bed?"

Jen started from her reverie and looked at Grams, who seemed to have aged considerably in the last couple of weeks, a worried frown knitting her brow, her eyes tired and occasionally bloodshot these days. Jen bit back a concerned comment as she handed the baby over. "Thanks," she said tightly, instead. "I still have some packing to do."

"You should try to get to bed early yourself. Busy weekend ahead."

Jen nodded and kissed Amy's dimpled hand as Grams turned her back and started for the nursery. When they were gone, Jen sagged onto the sofa and dug her nails into her legs, a sometimes-helpful tactic to ease that too-familiar stinging sensation behind her eyes. No time for tears. _(Especially when they might not stop, and everyone will know, they'll_ know.) That worked. She straightened up and arranged her features into a calm, capable mask of self-assurance. Practice makes perfect.

She couldn't control very much about her life these days, including but not limited to the ending of it. But she could – and _would_ -- control how she went out. She'd always been strong for them; she knew that now that it almost didn't matter any longer. She'd stay that way as long as it did. She felt something in her bones, and it was a knowledge that both saddened and terrified her, and at the same time strengthened her resolve that no one, ever, would see her crack.

This would be her last trip home.

**To be continued...**


End file.
